


I Won't Let You Bury It

by 3988Akasha



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Hallucinations, M/M, Nightmares, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-27
Updated: 2012-11-27
Packaged: 2017-11-19 16:14:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/575172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3988Akasha/pseuds/3988Akasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was just a series of incredible events. First, finding Miles. Second, being captured by Miles. Third, being surrendered to, by Miles. It was a bit much to take in, really. Miles said it as though it were the most common thing in the world. The defected General offering himself as a sacrificial lamb to the handsome Captain. It wasn't though, wasn't simple, wasn't common. It was honest, though. That much he knew. Miles wouldn't make an offer like this and not mean it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Won't Let You Bury It

**Author's Note:**

> beta'd by bones_2_be
> 
> This is how "No Quarter" should have gone...

Jeremy kept his hand around Miles', not as afraid of the blade to his throat as he should be. It's not like he wasn't afraid, but the shock of seeing _Miles_ after all this time was sort of dominating all other emotions. Plus, if Miles wanted him dead, he'd be dead. Still, it was Miles, and familiar, even the blade to his throat, although now the threat of actual death was a lot more probable. He couldn't keep his thoughts prioritized as Miles moved him backwards through the restaurant, using him as a shield against the militia.

"Lock the door. Nora, rope." Miles still gave orders like he was in charge of the world.

He couldn’t keep from looking at Miles, mouth gaping open like an idiot, when he was forced into a chair, the sword still close to his neck. His mind couldn't quite process that it really was Miles. Miles was alive, and here, with the rebels. That didn't make any sense. The rebels weren't doing well enough against the militia for Miles to be working with them, but still, Miles was here. The sniper on the roof, that had been Miles' idea. Jeremy should have known that from the beginning because using a shooter as a distraction to buy them time to escape, or to come up with a plan was a tactic Miles had taught him.

"What's this about?"

Jeremy didn't look at the guy who spoke and since Miles didn't look away, Jeremy figured the guy wasn’t all that important. He wished he could wipe the awestruck, rather stupid look off his face, but he couldn't. Miles was still the same though. The same terse sentences, the same ruthless aggression, the same blank look in his eyes. Jeremy finally allowed his hand to drop from Miles', but he didn't look away.

"He's their CO," Miles said. "We can trade him."

Miles finally looked away. Jeremy took the moment to compose himself, to try to align his thoughts into something beyond his shock at seeing Miles.

"His life for ours."

The words didn't really process, not at first. But, Miles wasn't going to kill him.

"Miles?" Jeremy couldn't keep the smile from spreading across his face. "It really is you, isn't it."

"Who's Miles?"

He watched Miles turn away, saw something like regret flicker across his face, then it was gone.

"You know this guy?" the girl who'd been tying his hands asked.

Jeremy looked at the large guy who'd spoken first. He looked confused. And the way Miles looked away at the mention of his name…

"Oh, you really don't know, do you?" Jeremy asked. He couldn't believe it. These people didn't know they were in the company of goddamned royalty. Maybe Miles wasn't working with the rebels. Still didn't explain why he was here, killing off his men with a stolen sniper rifle.

"How do you know him?" the same girl asked. She didn't seem surprised to hear the name Miles, but it didn't appear that she knew everything.

Jeremy made a face. If he told the truth and Miles didn't want him to, he'd slit his throat, so he kept his mouth shut. But, he wanted to tell them, see the reaction when the rebels found out whom they had in their camp. It was the sort of reveal anticipated in old spy films. Still, he wasn't ready to die right this second, so he looked up at Miles. His gaze was both mocking and questioning. His smile grew wider when Miles turned away with a sigh.

"Well, they're going to find out sooner or later," Miles said. His eyes roamed around the room before landing on Jeremy.

It should have been easier to breathe when Miles moved the sword away from his throat, but it wasn't. Miles took a step back, distancing himself from the militia, from Jeremy, from his past. Jeremy couldn't quite figure it out - Miles should be proud of what he'd done. Or, at the very least, not ashamed.

"Go ahead, tell them."

It was almost a challenge, but Miles' voice was too resigned for it to be a challenge. Jeremy had heard a true challenge. If Miles wasn't going to tell them, he would. They should know. Everyone should know. Maybe he was enjoying it a bit too much, but he couldn't have kept the smugness off his face if his life depended on it, which it might, but whatever. He was getting a bit of his own back. Monroe wasn't the only one Miles had abandoned.

"This is Miles Matheson. Commanding General of the Monroe militia," the words felt good as he said them. Maybe if he said them enough, Miles would remember who he was, who he was meant to be. "Founding father of the Republic. Second only to Sebastian Monroe himself."

The last bit was maybe a bit of a stretch. There was a time where the line between President Monroe and General Matheson was the most arbitrary thing in the world, at least to the men. Jeremy knew though. Knew how much they relied upon each other. The silence in the room was suffocating. Everyone shifted nervously as they digested the information. The second most dangerous person in the entire Republic stood in their midst, had probably just walked right through the front door. He heard Miles slide his sword back into its scabbard.

"He taught me everything I know." Jeremy wasn't sure how he meant that line either. Not now, not in this moment when all of his emotions were churning just below the surface. Miles knew to send a shooter to the roof because he knew Jeremy (or whoever had been leading the men) would keep sending someone to die until the enemy ran out of bullets. In this new world, men were easier to replace than bullets. Miles taught him that.

"Miles?" the girl asked, this time there was pain in her voice.

Jeremy smiled. Seems Miles kept secrets from everyone. His smiled changed to his jaw hanging open again. The look on Miles' face made him feel things he hadn't felt in years. It gave him hope. It wasn't the look of a defeated man, but the look of someone who'd just accepted the truth. Miles couldn't run from his past, even if he wanted to.

The big man moved in front of Miles. "I ought to slit your throat."

"Padre," Miles began, the blank look once more on his face, "I thought you were all about forgiveness."

"Christ forgives. I'm not Christ."

Jeremy smirked, neither was Monroe.

"You knew this whole time," the girl accused.

The other woman who seemed to know Miles nodded.

"Wait a minute," the padre interjected, "You brought Miles Matheson in here?"

Jeremy was glad to see the rebel padre knew the name, knew what it meant for his "cause".

"On purpose?"

Jeremy rolled his eyes. It was time to move on.

 "This is so dramatic. You guys remember 'One Life to Live'?"

"Shut up," Miles snapped.

Jeremy blinked, unimpressed. It was dramatic.

"Look, be pissed, hate me, do what you've got to do," Miles addressed the whole room, which seemed oddly appropriate to Jeremy. "But we've got bigger fish, okay? We trade him in, we get out of here."

Jeremy looked down. "Won't matter."

"Yes, it will," Miles insisted, hands on his hips. "'Cause like he said, I made the rules."

It was back again, that resigned tone Jeremy had come to know. Usually, it came from Monroe, but every once in a while he'd hear it from Miles. It was somehow wrong when it came from Miles. Indifference, like when he snarked at the padre, that was normal, that was Miles, but this, this wasn't.

"The rules of engagement have changed, kid," Jeremy told Miles, his own expression distant and detached. "Monroe's done negotiating with traitors."

It didn't make him happy, but it wasn't his fault. Wasn't his rule. He just had to follow it.

"You're a bad liar, Jeremy."

"I'm a bad liar? Look me in the eye and tell me I'm a liar." Jeremy wouldn't lie to Miles, mostly because Miles would know, or at least he used to be able to tell…instantly. It hurt a bit, the thought that Miles would think he'd lie about Monroe's rather new edict.

They stared at each other. Miles kept the same blank stare on his face, but Jeremy knew Miles believed him. He gave an "are you happy now" head movement then sort of shrugged. The rest of the discussion didn't matter. They were all dead.

"So, let me go, don't. I've made peace with my Lord and when my men come in here and cut you all up into strips you're going to have to make - "

 

 

A slap to the face woke him back up. He hadn't seen Miles' fist until it was too late, not that he really could have done anything about it, but it would've been nice to be able to say he'd at least seen it coming. Judging from the brightness in the room it was morning. His upper body ached from being tied to the chair all night, but overall, he was rather unscathed.

Miles had his head cocked to the side, and his eyes were lighter than they had been the night before, as if he'd figured out something important. Jeremy hoped he'd figured out that he was the damn General, but he didn't hold out false hope.

"So," Miles elongated the "o" and pursed his lips. "You let these people go, I'll turn myself in."

Jeremy licked his lips, they were dry and blood was caked to the side of his lip, a memento from where Miles had hit him.

"What?" the girl asked.

"To you," Miles said as he inclined his head, ignoring the girl completely.

Miles said it as though it were the most common thing in the world. The defected General offering himself as a sacrificial lamb to the handsome Captain. It wasn't though, wasn't simple, wasn't common. It was honest, though. That much he knew. Miles wouldn't make an offer like this and not mean it.

"Miles, no."

Jeremy didn't know how long the girl had been around Miles, but there wasn't a way to talk him out of this. Miles was turning himself in, and that was final. Even in surrender, Miles was giving orders.

"That's a good deal, right?"

His mouth was dry, and tasted like blood. Jeremy gathered a bit of saliva and spit it out, trying to clear the taste. It was just a series of incredible events. First, finding Miles. Second, being captured by Miles. Third, being surrendered to, by Miles. It was a bit much to take in, really.

"I bet you get a parade for this."

There it was, the Miles he knew. The Miles who'd left. The cockiest son of a bitch he'd ever met.

"Hm." Jeremy looked up at Miles. "I want that rifle. The one you were taking pot shots at us with."

He might not get the rifle from Miles, but he had to try. Orders were orders. Maybe bringing Miles home without the rifle would be enough for Monroe…it was hard to tell these days.

"Done."

Miles moved around him and began to undo the ropes binding him.

"What makes you think he'll keep his word?" the other woman asked.

"I've known this guy for much longer than I've known any of you. He'll keep his word."

Not that he'd intended to do anything other than take Miles directly to Monroe, do not pass go, do not collect 200 dollars, but it was nice to know Miles still trusted him.

"Yeah, and what about your word?" the young girl asked.

Jeremy thought it was a good question, but he wasn't stupid enough to ask. Miles could still kill him, deal or no.

"You can't find Danny if you're dead."

Miles didn't answer the question. Jeremy would have to ask him again later. When things were less hostile. It might be a few years.

Jeremy rolled his shoulders as Miles pulled the ropes over his head. He was sore. He allowed himself a moment to think that maybe Miles would give him a backrub. It was absurd, but the man had magic hands, and he shook the thought away.

"Alright," Miles said as everyone processed what was happening.

Jeremy stood from the chair as Miles passed in front of him.

"Let's go," Miles said, handing his sword to Jeremy.

He smiled. You can take the General out of the militia, but clearly, you can't take the militia out of the General. Miles was the only prisoner Jeremy knew who gave orders regarding his own surrender. It was normal for Miles.

Jeremy smiled at the room, feeling a bit smug. He let his hand trail down Miles' back, as a show of force, but really it was a lie. The only way Miles stayed a prisoner was by choice. Jeremy kept his hand on Miles' back for the same reason he'd kept it on his hand last night. To assure himself that Miles was real. Walking Miles Matheson out the door was like parting the Red Sea, even though the men didn't know who he was, Miles just had that affect.

"Let's go," Jeremy called as he moved past his slack-jawed men.

He wondered how many of them were reading the situation wrong, he'd wager most of them were. Most were probably wondering how Jeremy had over-powered his captors, then taken the leader prisoner. Some had been around long enough to know that a deal of some sort had been made, but he doubted any of them realized the man he had was General Matheson.

Jeremy walked Miles out to the horses and pulled a length of rope from one of the saddlebags. He didn’t really want to tie Miles to the horse, but he needed to for appearances sake. Miles didn't say anything as he held his hands out, but there was a dark humor lurking in his eyes because they both knew how ridiculous the charade really was. He tied the ropes securely, but hopefully they were loose enough to not chafe. Once Miles was secured to the horse, Jeremy got the troops in column formation flanking the "prisoner". Jeremy walked next to Miles at the back of the formation as they set off for Philadelphia. Being next to Miles again, with the militia flanking them was almost normal, and if Jeremy could forget about the ropes around Miles' wrists, he could pretend it was like it had been.

"Miles, it's me, you can level with me," Jeremy began. He didn't want to walk all the way to Philadelphia in silence. And, he wanted some answers. "Is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"Well, the rumor is Monroe wants you back because you know something about flipping the lights back on," Jeremy said, humor in his voice. He didn't believe it. Maybe it was part of the reason, but Monroe wanted Miles back - he didn't need a reason.

"It's crazy right?" Jeremy was trying to keep the conversation light, but interesting. Drawing Miles into a conversation when he wasn't interested in talking was impossible. He wanted Miles to confirm his theory. He wanted Miles to _want_ to be back. To have missed Monroe half as much as Monroe missed him, even if neither would own to it aloud. And maybe, just maybe, a part of him wanted Miles to have missed him, too.

Miles met his eyes briefly, brow furrowed, eyes distant. "What do you think?"

"Oh, I think it's crazy," Jeremy answered. "I think Monroe is…obsessed." It was hard to find the words to describe how Monroe had changed. Especially since if you didn't know him well, you wouldn't really notice. It was like everything became more intense after Miles left. Every character flaw Monroe had was left unchecked as he worked to become the best, and worst, of both of them. Only Miles could be Miles. Monroe trying to be Miles was destroying everything.

"It's sort of worrisome," Jeremy thought aloud. He needed someone other than him to be worried about Monroe. It wasn't going to be Neville, not anymore. Neville enjoyed the changes, got off on the increased level of brutality, the excess killings. Neville just added fuel to the fire of crazy Monroe had started when Miles left.

"Tell you something else?" Jeremy looked at Miles, trying to draw his gaze. "He hasn't been the same since you left."

At least he'd said it. It needed to be said; Miles needed to hear it. Even if it didn't change anything. Miles needed to know how badly he'd screwed everything up. If he'd got it in his foolish head that leaving would somehow make things _better_ , he was damn wrong. Everything had gone to hell once Miles left. Miles glanced at him, but looked away before he responded, like he couldn’t continue to meet Jeremy's eyes.

"Yeah." Miles said it with such indifference Jeremy knew he was lying. Like he was intentionally not thinking about how much his leaving must have screwed up Monroe, screwed up everyone.

"Yeah," Jeremy continued, "He's angrier…shorter fuse. You know? Not like the good old days."

He smiled at the thought. The early days when Miles and Monroe had been completely in sync, leading the world, shaping it into their image. He'd been there with them from the beginning. He'd seen their ups and their downs. But, they'd always been there for each other. Then Miles left. The accusation burned in Jeremy's chest. He wanted to beat Miles, scream in his face, demand he apologize for leaving. He wouldn't. That was Monroe's privilege, and probably the only person in the world who'd actually do it. Sure, he and Miles had been close, but he wasn't Monroe.

"You should send a scout," Miles commented as he looked around the area. "Check for traps, trip wires. If we find any, we can just avoid them."

Jeremy shook his head, a grin on his face. Damn General indeed. He couldn’t say no, though, not really. Partly because it was a smart plan, but mostly because it was Miles. He still couldn't say no to Miles. Not when he gave orders. Even tied to the packhorse, it was still an order if it came from Miles. Just like all those years ago, when Miles had saved him. He'd told the men to leave him alone, to not move. Simple orders that weren't orders, that were followed anyway.

"You," Jeremy said to the soldier nearest him. "Go ahead and look for trip wires or bombs or anything that doesn't look right. If you find anything report back to me."

"Sir."

The kid took off at a run. Jeremy looked back at Miles who was looking around the area, noting the position of the troops, looking for potential ambush sites. Yeah, he was still a militia man. Jeremy just had to remind him of it. Bringing Miles home might not get him a parade, but brining Miles home as his former commanding self, that sure as hell would get him a parade.

"Where've you been, Miles?" Jeremy asked, unable to temper his curiosity. It was a safer question than the one he really wanted to ask.

"Chicago."

He hadn't left the Republic then. Interesting. Most deserters that hadn't flipped moved to the wastelands. Miles could have gone somewhere where no one knew where he was, where he wouldn’t have had to hide, but he didn't. He stayed. Not as close as Monroe wanted, but closer than he'd assumed.

Before Jeremy could press further, an explosion went off a few miles in front of them. It spooked the horses and Jeremy watched Miles work to keep himself upright and simultaneously calm the horse. Seems Miles had been right about the traps. He quickly went around and brought everyone back to order.

"Hope that wasn't your best man."

Jeremy rolled his eyes. He didn't even know the man's name. He didn't know most of his men's names. Most didn’t last that long, not on long patrols like this. They weren’t meant to, not anymore. It was another thing Monroe had lost focus on…sure, Miles believed men were easier to get than bullets, but it wasn't due to a complete disregard for human life so much as a practicality. Monroe wasn't concerned with practicalities.

"Sir," a soldier called as he moved to the back of the formation, "we should pursue the rebels. They're the ones responsible for the trap."

Jeremy didn't respond and the soldier looked at him a bit impatiently. Jeremy realized he'd been waiting for Miles to respond. It'd been his idea, and he _was_ the damn General. He glanced at Miles who ever so slightly shook his head. Jeremy pursed his lips. Going after the "rebels" would mean Miles' cooperation ended. Not going after the rebels meant he'd have to keep his men from accusing him of breaking standing orders. He did have Miles though, which superseded all other orders, but most of the men didn't know about those orders. Mostly though, he didn't want to tell the men about Miles. It wasn't necessary for them to know and might complicate things. All he needed was some soldier thinking he was going to prove himself by killing Miles. Best-case scenario, the soldier would fail and Miles would kill him. Jeremy couldn't think about the worst-case scenario.

"We're not going after them," Jeremy answered.

"But, sir, we have to."

"No, actually, we don't. Monroe wants his rifle back, and we're going to get it to him, soon."

"Those are rebels, not just random people, sir. We can't just let them get away."

Jeremy could feel Miles' smile and wanted to hit him. This was all his fault. "Get back in formation."

"I'll have to report you for this, sir."

Jeremy and the soldier both glared at Miles when he began to laugh. Sure, he could find the situation funny. He was already a prisoner.

"Understood, now get back in formation."

Miles glanced over at him, a smile still on his face. "I hope you have a backup route, Captain."

"How'd you know?"

Miles didn't answer him. It didn't matter, though. Miles knew they would be there and he had warned the militia. He could have just let them walk right into the trap. It was probably a rescue attempt, too. Maybe Miles did want to go back, maybe he was tired of living a lie, of being someone he wasn't. Maybe Jeremy was an idiot, but he couldn't let go of his hope, not when he was this close to things being better.

Jeremy left Miles to his thoughts and gave the new route to his sergeants. He wanted to reach Kentland before nightfall. Unfortunately, the bridge had been the most direct path out of St. Anne, but it would only cost them an hour or so to correct their course. It would still take them inside a month to get back to Philadelphia. Maybe it would be enough time to fix Miles.

"What did you do in Chicago?"

"I taught you better interrogation techniques that that."

Jeremy smiled. "I didn't realize this was an interrogation."

"Isn't it?"

Sure, he'd report everything Miles said to Monroe, but it's not like Monroe would ask different questions. Everyone wanted to know where Miles had gone, what he'd been doing, why he'd left. Now, Jeremy wanted to know why Miles agreed to come back. He'd had a chance at being rescued, but turned it down, helped the militia.

"Why'd you warn us?"

Miles made an impatient sound and looked off to the distance. Clearly, Miles was done with the talking portion of the day.

"You know, Miles, it's a long way to Philly."

Miles looked at him this time and Jeremy wished he hadn't. He didn't like the look in Miles' eyes, didn't like how Miles was allowing him to see all of the conflicting emotions he was feeling. Not that Miles didn't deserve to feel exactly how he felt. He chose to leave, chose to let himself become separated from a part of himself. Not just Monroe, although that was a large part of it, but the militia was Miles. It was as much a part of him as any other limb.

"Yeah, I know."

It was a long day for Jeremy as they walked to Kentland and no matter how many times he'd tried to pull Miles into a conversation it never worked. He just walked behind the horse, eyes scanning the horizon. For a while, Jeremy had tried imagining what it would be like, being Miles. Going home after so many years away. It was difficult because no one else would be able to do such a thing, not really. Miles had the ability to come back home, and Monroe might not exactly roll out a red carpet, might even have Miles tortured, but, when he was in a forgiving mood, he'd take Miles back as though he'd never left. No one else had that luxury. If Jeremy defected, he'd be killed. Maybe it should be called something different, something like an extended leave of absence. Not that the betrayal was any different.

They made it to Kentland earlier than Jeremy expected, but he had been pushing them all pretty hard. It was easier to keep marching, to move faster, when Miles was being silent. Usually, having a silent prisoner was a good thing, but not Miles. Jeremy wanted answers, yes, but he'd've settled for idle conversation about the weather. Anything was better than the silence. Jeremy had one of the men guard Miles, for all the good it would do should Miles decide he was tired of playing prisoner, while he gave instructions for setting up camp for the night. It would have been easier to have Miles help, but prisoners were prisoners and he'd already aroused more suspicion among the men than he really wanted.

"Hungry?" Jeremy asked as he approached Miles.

"Have all the men eaten?"

Jeremy checked himself just in time. He almost said "yes, sir", like he would have, before. For a moment he was almost offended, of course all the men had eaten, Jeremy wasn't an idiot, he knew the rules, he knew how things worked.

"Of course they have. Now it's your turn. Do you want some food?"

"You offering to feed me?"

Jeremy's mouth went dry. He hadn't heard an offer like that in a long time. It must have shown on his face because Miles smiled and shook his head a bit before nodding to where the men were seated around the fire. It was stew; eating it required the use of both hands. Jeremy blushed and ducked his head, feeling a bit stupid for thinking Miles might _want_ him to feed him dinner.

"I'll have some for you in the tent. I can untie you there. The men don’t need to know," Jeremy said as he walked away. He could feel Miles smiling at his retreating back.

Jeremy barked orders a bit more forcefully than necessary, frustrated that he'd allowed Miles to get to him. It was still weird being around him. They were so physically close, but Miles might as well be back in Chicago for all the good the proximity was doing him. He didn't know what he'd expected, not that he'd expected to ever see Miles again, but this wasn't it. Silent Miles was unnerving. Once inside his tent, Jeremy removed his jacket, letting it fall to the ground. He unbuttoned the top couple of buttons, glad to be out of the men's view. He'd never felt their scrutiny more intensely than he had today. It was as if they all knew he was keeping a huge secret from them. It didn't matter if they found out now or later, the reaction wouldn't be good, and a month was a long time to keep this type of a secret, especially if Jeremy kept forgetting that he was the damn captain and Miles was the prisoner.

He glanced up when one of his sergeants brought Miles into the tent. The same slightly amused smile was on his face as the sergeant unnecessarily pushed Miles into the tent. Jeremy made a face, but didn't say anything.

"Thank you, sergeant. You're dismissed."

"Sir, I still don't think this is a good idea. He should be kept under guard all night."

Jeremy locked his hands behind his back and moved closer to the sergeant. "Are you implying that I am unable to properly guard our prisoner, sergeant?"

The sergeant paled. "O-of c-course not, sir. It's just not protocol."

"I'm aware, sergeant. I will take charge of the prisoner tonight. You can post a guard outside the tent, if you feel it's necessary."

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir."

Once he was gone, Jeremy turned to Miles and reached for the ropes. He undid them as efficiently as possible, not wanting his hands to linger as they had yesterday. It wasn't going to help him keep the secret if he was finding excuses to touch Miles. Once freed, Miles moved his wrists in circles, eyes fluttering closed as blood began to circulate normally. Jeremy needed to figure out how to keep Miles out of the rope restraints. There was no way he'd tolerate them for the full journey.

"There's stew."

Miles nodded and reached for the bowl of field stew. It wasn't much, but it was food, and Miles had eaten worse. They would meet up with a larger contingent, one with wagons, once they reached Indianapolis. Maybe he could just keep Miles in the wagon with one of the sergeants to guard him, keep him untied. Hopefully, Miles would show his cooperation enough for the men to believe it.

Jeremy wanted to start a conversation, wanted to talk about troop movements, about the recent changes, about their upcoming journey, but he couldn't. He knew Miles wasn't going to talk, not tonight. It was just as lonely with Miles in the same tent as he had been without him. That's what he'd been expecting when he first saw Miles in that rebel camp. Even as they were fighting each other, rather intensely, he'd expected to have Miles back. To have someone to talk to again.

His silence was petulant, but he'd quit caring about an hour ago, and he was determined to remain silent as the evening progressed. Jeremy looked over various reports and maps until his eyes ached from staying open too long. It was late, and while he wasn't exactly tired, he needed to at least pretend to rest. In the morning, he would need to go back to maintaining the pretense that Miles was a prisoner. Even in the silence, it was nice to allow himself a chance to pretend he wasn't in charge anymore, not with Miles here. He extinguished his lamp and crawled into his field bed. If Miles had been speaking to him at all, he might have gone through the niceties of saying "goodnight" or offering to keep the lamp on for him until he was ready, but Miles wasn't talking and Jeremy was sulking.

It was still dark when Jeremy woke up; he never slept all the way through the night when they were out on long patrols. He moved to go check on the men, but couldn't. An arm was wrapped around him, and moving only made the arm hold him tighter. He couldn’t see very well, but the options were rather limited. He didn't breathe for a moment as the reality of the situation hit him. Miles had his arm wrapped around him. Miles was _spooning_ him. In the tent, with the militia just outside. He felt Miles' nose against the back of his neck as he resettled, apparently convinced Jeremy wasn't going to move anymore. Which he wasn't. He wasn't sure if Miles even knew he'd rolled over and started spooning, but Jeremy damn well wasn't going to wake him up to tell him. No, tonight he'd just enjoy the normalcy, the closeness of it. Tomorrow he'd deal with the fallout, or with Miles just pretending it never happened, which the way Jeremy thought the non-conversation would go.

This time he woke up to the sunlight streaming through the canvas and his movements were uninhibited. He forced the disappointment down because he'd known it wasn't going to last. He rolled to his feet. Miles was once more on his own sleeping pallet, apparently dead to the world.

"Let's go, Miles," Jeremy called as he pulled on his boots. "You've got a very special appointment, and you can't be late."

Miles mumbled, something rather foul, colorful, but foul as he stood to his feet. He glared at Jeremy, but it wasn't heated, more just general annoyance. Jeremy smirked; Miles wasn't a morning person. Oh he was still highly effective in the mornings and late at night and basically, always, but he didn't _like_ being awake in the morning. And woe to the person unlucky enough to wake him. His little jab at the end of his wake up probably didn't do anything to improve Miles' mood, but Jeremy didn't really care at the moment, he was still a bit upset about being used. That's what it was, after all, or so Jeremy told himself. Miles could be silent and broody all day, then at night suddenly decide he wanted to be cuddly?

"I want to make Lebanon tonight."

Miles nodded as he pulled on his boots. The continued silence was killing Jeremy. At least once he got the wagon, he could put Miles in it and just ignore the fact that he wasn't talking. Maybe then it wouldn’t be such a present silence, maybe then he could go back to treating him like any other prisoner. No one ever accused Jeremy of being the sanest of persons. It was all a pipe dream because even as a prisoner Miles gave orders just like General Matheson, Miles in a wagon would be just as silent as Miles tied to the packhorse.

"I'll go find some coffee."

There was almost a flicker of something warm in Miles' gaze and he kept himself from smiling in return. Miles was going to have to give him a hell of a lot more than an almost expression for him to go out of his way to make with the pleasantries today. Jeremy left the tent and only after he observed his men readying their gear did he realize he'd left Miles unbound and alone in his command tent. Whatever, if the men went into his tent they'd be breaking protocol and Miles didn't exactly seem eager to move, let alone escape. When he brought the coffee back into the tent, Miles was busy packing up their gear. Jeremy stood by the tent's entrance and watched Miles efficiently roll up the second bed, remembering a time when they would laugh after watching new men try to roll the bed in one try. The men would get it rolled only to have it unroll when they went to tie it off. Miles didn't fumble as he wrapped the rope around the roll and tossed it over to where the other was waiting.

"It might be cold, but it's still coffee," Jeremy said as he moved into the tent.

Miles didn't say anything as he took the coffee, but he wasn't frowning or glaring at the world, so Jeremy figured that counted as improvement. Maybe Miles knew he'd decided to turn into a human straight jacket during the night and didn't know how to deal with it. That would explain the silence. It would explain why he wasn't as actively hostile as he had been yesterday. Maybe things would be better today, even awkward would be better than actively silent. As they drank their coffee, Jeremy couldn't stop looking at Miles. He looked tired, like he hadn't slept, but Jeremy knew he had. It was more than a lack of sleep, it was deeper, darker and it would take a long time to fix.

They had the camp packed and were back on the road within an hour. Jeremy hated seeing Miles tied to the packhorse, but he assured himself that they'd make Indianapolis in two days, then Miles could ride in the wagon. They stopped briefly for lunch, Miles still wasn't talking, but he was showing more open facial expressions, at least to Jeremy. If the men had any qualms about how…friendly Jeremy was with the "prisoner", they were wise enough to keep their mouth shut. It wasn't exactly like they were playing footsie under the table or anything, mostly because he doubted Miles would be interested in it. It was lonely, having Miles this close, but still so damn distant and it was worse, too. Knowing he was there, right within reach, but still not interested. Jeremy supposed it was a lot to process, being around the militia again, being around _him_ again…moving ever closer to Monroe. All of it was his own damn fault, and that's what Jeremy couldn't let go of, that's part of why it was so hard for him to care. Miles brought it all upon himself.

Dusk was settling as they approached Lafayette. The men were tired when they set up camp just outside town. Jeremy understood. They were moving at a quick pace, quicker than they were used to and without any reason Jeremy could give them. Once again, Miles was secured to a tree while the men pitched the tents, but tonight, no one questioned him when he took Miles into his tent for the night. Jeremy left Miles alone when he went to check on the men, ensuring they were ready for the night's watch and when he came back to the tent, Miles had set out the bedrolls. If it weren’t quite so absurd, Jeremy would have laughed because Miles put his as far away from Jeremy's as he could without it actually begin outside the tent. He smirked, at least he knew Miles knew about his late night cuddling. The smiled faded when Jeremy realized it also meant Miles wasn't interested.

Jeremy didn't sleep that night, all too aware of Miles on the other side of the tent. He didn't hear a single rustle, which made him irrationally angry. If he wasn't sleeping because if Miles, Miles shouldn't be sleeping either. It was raining when dawn broke, grey skies a welcome distraction. Jeremy didn't say anything to Miles as he went around his morning duties, let the men wake Miles up, he didn't care anymore. Maybe the men would even feed him. As the day progressed, it became harder to not look back a Miles. He knew he was still back there, he could feel Miles' eyes on him, but he forcibly kept his gaze forward. Two could play the silent game. A part of Jeremy realized he was acting like a child, but he learned from the best, so he figured he was entitled to a day of self-indulgent petulance. He barely allowed the men a break at midday for lunch, he wanted to push all the way through to Lebanon. Secretly, he just wanted to keep going all the way to Indianapolis, but that was 60 miles and the men were already suspicious of his actions and his pace. It was better for everyone if he just sucked it up and dealt with Miles' silence for another day.

They made camp in Lebanon. Jeremy kept noticing the glances his men would shoot him when they thought he wasn't looking. He knew they could feel the tension between him and Miles, it was like a string pulled too tight, and it was only a matter of time before it snapped. Even knowing it wasn't a likely scenario, Jeremy refused to be the first to break. Miles created this problem, and it was his responsibility to fix it. Once again, Miles set the bedrolls as far away from each other as possible. Jeremy couldn't sleep again and wondered how long he'd make it before his body just shut down. His pride refused to let Miles see him act vulnerable.

The rain continued all the way to Indianapolis, soaking everyone thoroughly. It was a miserable walk and the men were all irritated as they walked towards the center of town. Jeremy was relieved they wouldn't have to make camp tonight, he didn't want to deal with the men's complaints. They were all wet and tired. Fortunately, they were stopped here for a couple of days to resupply. Jeremy smirked because if Miles annoyed him too much, which was more likely than not, he could always throw him in one of the cells. If he was going to remain silent, he might as well not be present. Plus, it would help Jeremy maintain his resolve. He might even get some sleep.

It didn't work. Jeremy paced his room inside the Indiana Statehouse. He'd had the men lock Miles up in the Chase Tower, maybe being around people who didn't give a damn about him would make Miles more friendly. Even as he had the thought, Jeremy dismissed it. He knew Miles too well for that. Miles knew what to expect from the men because they were _his_ men, even if they didn't know it. Jeremy was heading dangerously towards 36 hours without sleep and knew that if he didn't sleep, he'd do something foolish. He went back to bed, forced his eyes closed and counted sheep until sunrise.

"Sir," a guard burst into his room. Jeremy only just managed not to roll his eyes, but his look must have registered because the young kid looked a bit sorry he'd come in the room.

"What is it?"

"The prisoner, he's requesting to see you."

"Requesting to see me."

Jeremy smiled. Miles didn't _request_ anything. He was about to drop everything and run when he realized he didn't _have_ to do anything. He could just let Miles rot. He was the Captain and Miles was the prisoner. He was just tired enough to justify ignoring Miles request. He glanced back at the guard who clearly was still waiting for instructions.

"Dismissed."

He went through the rest of his day supervising the men as they restocked their supplies and gathered the wagon and even some horses. After walking through the rain for two days, Jeremy was ready to sit his ass on a horse and ride the rest of the way to Philadelphia. As predicted, his vow of silence was wavering. He didn't really want to keep quiet for the next three weeks, and almost regretted his choice to stay actively silent. It's not as though Jeremy was unfamiliar with Miles. No one would ever accuse Miles of being loquacious, even in the best of moods. There were weeks were Miles and Monroe would go without saying more than a few sentences to each other, mostly because they'd reached a point in their relationship where words were unnecessary. That's what bothered Jeremy about this silence. It wasn't the easy, comfortable silence of knowing someone. It was an intentional silence meant to keep people at bay. Jeremy refused to be that person and scolded himself for being played so easily.

It was late afternoon before Jeremy worked up the nerve to go see Miles. He'd tried to maintain his righteous anger from earlier, but found it was hard to sustain. The lack of sleep was showing and he'd been corrected by his sergeants more than once during the day, which didn't go far to improve his mood. The guards snapped to attention when he came through the doors of Chase Tower. Most of the upper levels were gone, but the lower levels, the one with the banks, were still intact. Lamps were being lit as the sun continued to sink into the horizon, the men were preparing to make the sundown personnel change. A few feet from the entrance to the cells, Jeremy squared his shoulders and straightened the bottom of his shirt. He'd ignored a summons from Miles and even though he was in charge, he couldn't shake the feeling of being put before the disciplinary board.

Miles was sitting on the bench, arms resting on his knees, head low. He didn't move at Jeremy's approach and his level of apprehension rose. Jeremy could feel the emotions rolling off Miles; it was as though he'd been keeping them all behind some sort of force field and now it was gone.

"What's going on, Jeremy?"

It wasn't what he'd been expecting and Jeremy was glad Miles wasn't looking at him because it meant he wasn't seeing his mouth working uselessly to come up with words. The question could mean everything.

"You've been out of it all day and you haven't slept in days."

Jeremy could only continue to stare at him. It was almost like he cared, which was impossible because people who went silent for days didn't get to care. People who abandoned someone, they didn’t get to care.

"I don't have time for this," Jeremy replied. "I have things to do."

"You need to sleep."

"You don't give me orders, not anymore."

Jeremy almost took a step back when Miles stood from the bench and walked to the bars.

"I do, actually, when you're incapable of doing it yourself."

Jeremy balled his hands into fists at his sides. "I'll just let you out so you can give the orders. Then shoot myself so I don't have to be the one to tell Monroe you were shot on my watch."

"Don't be stupid. Just go get some sleep."

"Screw you, Miles."

Jeremy didn't miss the look Miles gave him, but it didn't stop him. Jeremy turned on his heel and left the building, focusing on not stomping his feet like a child. He screamed orders at anyone that came too close to him for the rest of the day. Back at the Statehouse, Jeremy pretended to look over the maps, pretended he was working out the most expedient route to move the troops from Indianapolis to Philadelphia. He knew they were going to be covering some territory heavy with rebels, and he knew he should be preparing orders for scouting parties and he should probably send a runner with a note for Monroe. Instead, he was thinking about Miles. About what Miles said. About how Miles wasn't wrong, but was too dense to realize it was all his fault.

After several fruitless hours of staring at lines on the map, Jeremy stripped down to his shorts and crawled into bed. He almost felt tired enough to sleep, in spite of Miles. Resigned to another night of counting sheep, Jeremy closed his eyes and imagined giant white sheep leaping over a wooden fence.

The skies were clear as dawn broke and Jeremy rolled from the bed. Haphazardly, he threw his clothes on and stumbled from the room in search of coffee. It was too hot when he drank it, but the scorching heat barely registered. The men kept giving him curious looks, and he was sure his eyes were wide and blood shot. It was like a hangover, but without the fun memories. On top of the headache, he could hear Miles scold him for not sleeping and it made him want to do something stupid, like shoot him. Jeremy poured himself another cup and went back to his room, hoping some time alone would help him gather his senses. He stood by the window and watched the men move around the camp, like little ants.

He needed to be out there with them, directing their actions. They needed to have more supplies this time. Jeremy set his empty mug down and walked to the door, but froze just as he reached it. His heart was hammering in his chest and his feet wouldn't move. It couldn't be. They were dead, but that knowledge didn't keep Jeremy from throwing his arms up to block the meaty fist. He stumbled as he scrambled to move away from the pair of men as they continued to move into the room. He fell to the floor, arms out to protect his face, not that it would matter. They were going to kill him this time. This time there was no one to save him.

"Sir!"

Jeremy blinked and relaxed when he noticed the swarm of soldiers in his room. Anxiously, he looked around the room, looking for the men. They weren't there. Jeremy didn't know what to think. He _knew_ they were dead. He'd _seen_ Miles shoot them, but they'd been here and they were going to kill him. He wasn't crazy.

"Get the medic," the same soldier called.

"No," Jeremy insisted as he stood to shaky feet. "No, that won't be necessary. I just need to get a bit of rest."

The men didn't look convinced, but they were too well trained to voice any further objections. Jeremy dismissed them with a wave of his hand and resigned himself to lying in bed for the better part of the day or he would be seeing the medic. After a few hours of staring at the ceiling, making patterns in the paint, Jeremy heard the door open. Quickly, he closed his eyes and evened out his breathing, hoping whoever it was would see him sleeping and leave him alone.

"He was screaming when we found him. It was like someone was attacking him, doctor."

Jeremy rolled his eyes. Seems his men were determined after all. He remained still as he heard the feet shuffle closer to the bed. Hopefully, the doctor would buy his sleeping ruse and not ask questions he couldn't answer.

"He appears to be resting now, so we'll just keep a closer eye on him."

"Something's wrong. Ever since we found the rebel camp in St. Anne…he's been acting strange."

"I'll keep a closer eye on him. We're moving on in the morning."

"Yes, doctor."

Jeremy relaxed once he heard the door close. He didn't need the doctor looking more closely at him, or questioning his actions. He stayed in his room until sunrise, not wanting to endure the questioning looks from the men.

He reached Monument Circle just as the men were bringing Miles out from Chase Tower. Their eyes locked and Jeremy watched a series of emotions flicker across Miles' face before he broke free from the men holding him and dashed towards him. Jeremy could only stand still, shock rippling through his body as Miles made his way towards him. Miles reached out, his hand cupping Jeremy's cheek before the men caught up with him.

"Jeremy - "

Jeremy watched, eyes wide, as they knocked Miles over the head.

Listlessly, Jeremy turned to the men holding a now unconscious Miles. "Secure him in the wagon."

 Jeremy wasn't sure how he'd managed to stay upright as they moved from Indianapolis to Knightstown, but he did. Miles was still out in the wagon. The men had secured him to the wagon with shackles on his wrists and ankles and someone had even gagged him. It bothered Jeremy to see him like that, especially after it seemed like Miles was going to talk to him again, but he couldn't do anything about it now. After his freak out the other day, the men would ignore him if he demanded they un-gag the now hostile prisoner. From their perspective, Miles had been moving forward to attack their CO. Jeremy laughed bitterly, if only they knew.

Miles was awake. Jeremy knew because he could hear the thrashing from the wagon. He couldn’t do anything about it now. The last thing he needed was the doctor to declare him unfit for duty. Still, he slowed his horse until he was parallel with the wagon. He glanced at Miles, but quickly looked away. He wasn't ready to look at Miles, not when he was looking back so intently. Whatever it was Miles needed to say to him couldn't be said now. He didn't need the men knocking Miles over the head again, and he wasn't sure he could convince them to let him have Miles in the tent tonight. He'd been fighting it for days, but the truth was he needed Miles in the tent with him. Having him in the Chase Tower, not even half a mile away had been harder than he'd let himself realize.

Just as he'd thought, the men secured Miles to a tree as far away from the command tent as possible. They hadn't removed the gag, and Jeremy wondered if they'd let him eat anything all day. One of the sergeants had taken over for Jeremy, probably under orders from the doctor, who'd been casting curious glances his way all day. He was happy to let someone else be in charge for a bit. It couldn’t last, but for now, Jeremy let it slide, let other people take care of the camp, of the guard changes. He dressed for bed and stared at the second bedroll where it was propped up against the side of the tent. It was a larger tent. Part of the supplies they'd picked up in Indianapolis. It just made the emptiness stand out that much more. Jeremy squeezed his eyes closed, trying to imagine the tent was smaller, that he wasn't quite so alone.

It was the early hours of the morning when Jeremy heard footsteps outside his tent. He groaned, fearing it was the doctor coming to check on him again. It wasn't the doctor, not unless the doctor planned on spending the night in the tent with him. Jeremy watched, eyes heavy, as Miles pulled the bedroll over and laid it out next to Jeremy. His expression was unreadable. Jeremy swallowed nervously, unsure of what to expect from Miles. Jeremy looked down at Miles' wrists, the shackles were gone, but there were red marks that made Jeremy look away quickly.

"What in the hell is going on?"

The harshly whispered words made Jeremy flinch.

"I won't ask again."

Jeremy swallowed. That's why he couldn't read Miles' expression, because Miles was pissed off. Which should have made Jeremy proceed with caution, but he was beyond exhausted and the tone just pissed him off.

"What do you think is going on, Miles?"

"You can't do this, not now, Jeremy. You have an army to command. There are rebel camps between here and Philly, and they're not going to care about your issues."

"My issues? God, you really don't get it, do you?"

Miles stared at him.

"Do you have any idea what it's like? Having you back? Having you here? But, not here?"

"What?"

"Why'd you warn me about the rescue, Miles? You _knew_ the girls were going to save you. You could have gone with them, but you didn't."

"I don't know, Jeremy."

"Like hell you don’t," Jeremy yelled. He froze, eyes wide, scanning the area, waiting for men to pour into the tent.

There, movement. Jeremy watched the tent flap open, he couldn't make out any features because the shadows obscured their faces, but the men were big. They moved into the tent. Jeremy pointed to them, his arm shaking. "G-g-get out."

"Jeremy! Jeremy, there's no one there."

Jeremy's eyes were frozen wide open as Miles shook him. His eyes wouldn't focus, but he recognized enough of the blurry image to know it was Miles. He couldn't close his eyes. He couldn't move. He couldn’t quite feel it, but he knew Miles was stroking his hair, knew he was saying something. Jeremy focused on that, listened hard to Miles' voice, wanting to know what he was saying, but he couldn't. The men were still here. He tried to tell Miles, but his mouth wouldn't work. He panicked and jerked free from Miles. The men needed to leave, maybe they would get Miles. They'd come for him before and he wouldn’t let them hurt him again. He was stronger now, he knew things.

His head snapped to the side when he heard movement. It was Miles. Miles was coming towards him. He wanted to warn Miles back, get him away from the men with faces he couldn’t see. But he couldn’t. Then, he couldn’t move. He struggled, but he couldn't get free.

"Jeremy, Jeremy, please, relax. It's me, it's Miles."

He stopped struggling, but couldn't stop the shaking.

"Sssssh," Miles whispered.

Jeremy wrapped his arms around Miles, pressed himself as close as possible. Miles didn't push him away. He didn't distance himself. Jeremy clung to Miles as he felt himself moved back over to the bedrolls. Miles was carding his hair, whispering something, soft and soothing. He allowed Miles to let go of him long enough for Miles to remove his shirt and boots. Miles pulled him back into his arms as he settled himself on the bedrolls. He felt Miles press a kiss to the top of his head.

"It's okay, Jeremy. I’m not going anywhere."

For the first time in days, Jeremy relaxed into a deep sleep. He woke up feeling better than he had in a long, long time. Blindly, he reached behind him, but the space was empty. He was disappointed, but he knew it was necessary. The spot was still warm, so Miles hadn't been gone long. It had always amazed him, Miles' internal clock. It didn't matter where they were, or how tired they were, Miles always knew what time it was, was always able to wake himself up at a specific time. Jeremy took his time rolling up his mat and getting dressed. The day was already better because he didn't feel as though he were walking through a fog.

"Captain Baker," his sergeant said as soon as he set foot outside his tent.

"Sergeant."

"Something happened last night, but no one can explain it."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, sir. One of the men guarding the prisoner, well, he's dead, sir. But, the prisoner is still secured to the tree."

Jeremy bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. That answers how Miles was able to sneak into his tent last night.

"I'll see to it. Have the doctor meet me in my tent in ten minutes, I'm feeling much better and want him to verify it."

The sergeant smiled a bit, trying not to show how pleased he was to see his CO back and hurried off to do as told. Jeremy shook his head, went to where the field kitchen had been set up, and took two mugs of coffee. There was almost a skip in his step as he walked over to the far side of the camp. Miles was slumped against the tree, shackled and gagged, just as he had been before Jeremy had gone to sleep.

"I understand we have phantoms killing the men."

Miles' eyes sparkled a bit and Jeremy removed the gag. "It won't happen again."

Jeremy shrugged. "Of course not."

Jeremy felt Miles' eyes scan his face, looking for signs of the madness from last night. Jeremy stayed still under the scrutiny, pleased to know Miles cared. They were miles away from okay, but they had miles to spare.

"Coffee?"

Miles smiled. "Yeah."

Jeremy pulled a key from his pocket and undid the shackles. He didn't care what the men thought. He was fully capable of taking care of a prisoner. And, it's not like Miles could drink the coffee without his hands. Miles took the coffee and held the warm mug between his hands. Jeremy didn't know what else to say. He didn't know if he should mention last night, if he should say thanks, if he should just keep his damn mouth shut. He wanted to beg Miles to hold him at night, but he wouldn't. He couldn't. Miles had to want it; Jeremy _needed_ Miles to want it. All the things Jeremy wanted to say, he couldn't, not during daylight, not when the men could hear the conversation. Everything else was just awkward small talk he didn't really want.

"I'm meeting the doctor, so he can declare my health for the men."

Miles nodded. "Look, Jeremy, I - "

Jeremy watched as Miles struggled to find the words, his tongue poking out to lick his lips, a habit of Miles' that Jeremy adored.

"I don't know how to answer your questions. Not yet, not here."

Jeremy nodded. "Just stick around this time, okay? Don't check out on me again."

Miles nodded. Jeremy nodded in return and took the empty mug from Miles. He gave a half smile before turning and walking back to his tent. He gave orders for Miles to be secured with rope and put in the wagon. The men wanted to protest, but Jeremy couldn't put him back in shackles, not after last night. And, he'd shoot the next person who put a gag on him. He had the doctor make an announcement to the whole company that Jeremy was in fact in good health and that he was medically fit for duty. It helped to keep the rumors at bay.

They fell into a pattern as they made the journey from Knightstown to Columbus.             It took four days to cover the distance and during the day, Jeremy would ride his horse near the wagon, occasionally chatting with Miles about rather meaningless things, but at least it was talking. Most of the time though, they just rode next to each other in silence, though this time the silence was less painful. Miles grumbled about the ropes, which always made Jeremy smile because they both knew he couldn't just leave Miles completely unbound, not without making a lot of explanations. The further they went, the more Jeremy wondered how long he'd be able to keep his secret. Part of him was selfish and wanted the knowledge of who Miles was all to himself. He didn't doubt Miles could convince the men he was the General, that is if he wanted to go back to being the General, which Jeremy didn't know because they spent their time talking about the bad coffee and rather erratic weather. Jeremy found himself looking forward to nighttime, it was quickly becoming his favorite time. Miles had given up the pretense of setting up his bedroll anywhere other than right next to Jeremy's. Even when they didn't say anything to each other, Miles would open his arms for Jeremy once they settled in for the night.

They reached the Scioto River by mid-day five days after leaving Knightstown. The men were once more anxious to reach a major settlement. Jeremy didn't blame them, he was more than ready to be in a real bed once more, in a real building. There was so much to do for the next leg of the journey since the rebels were known to have a greater concentration of camps and ambush sites between Columbus and Philadelphia. More than just the supplies of food and water, Jeremy ensured the men had an adequate supply of weapons and he also added a detachment of men to his unit. By the time he was done with all his preparations, it was late afternoon. He went to his suit of rooms inside the Ohio Statehouse, fully expecting to see Miles sitting at the window. It had always been his favorite place to observe the men, said something about being able to think better. Miles wasn't there, though and Jeremy felt as though the floor had been taken out from beneath his feet.

"Where's the prisoner?" Jeremy demanded of the first guard he saw.

The guard looked at him as though Jeremy had asked about the most recent alien abduction.

"He's in the bank, sir."

Jeremy swore as he stormed out of the building. He didn't want Miles in the bank. Now he would have to convince the local garrison to let him have Miles back, which normally wouldn't be an issue because it was his prisoner, but he didn't know how to explain it. He wanted Miles in his room, that was hardly something he could tell the Captain of the Guard. Fortunately for him, it was the Sergeant of the Guard on duty when Jeremy entered the bank. He smiled. It was always easier when it was a sergeant.

"Sergeant," Jeremy said, "I need the prisoner released into my custody."

It was an uncommon request and Jeremy could see the sergeant processing all the regulations governing his job.

"For how long, sir?"

Jeremy crossed his arms in front of him. "I'll be taking charge of my prisoner, sergeant."

The poor sergeant blanched before nodding his head. "Of course, sir."

Jeremy exchanged an amused look with Miles as the sergeant unlocked the cell. They didn't talk as they walked across the lawn to the Statehouse. After giving strict orders to be disturbed only in the case of an emergency, Jeremy led Miles up to his room. Miles went to stand in front of the window and Jeremy smiled to himself as he followed so he could untie Miles' wrists.

"This is the closest to home I've been in years," Jeremy whispered. He didn't mean to say it, not really. It was the truth, though.

Miles turned from the window, head titled to the side. "Why?"

Jeremy swallowed. Clearly, they were having the talk now. Good, this is what he'd wanted, right? But, now that it was here, literally staring him in the face, and when did Miles get that close to him, he wasn't so sure he was ready for it. Jeremy crossed to the desk and poured two liberal tumblers of whiskey. It wasn't the good stuff, not this far out, but it was better than nothing and he figured they'd both appreciate it by the end of the evening.

"I was…banished from the kingdom. Sent to patrol the far boarders, an important task reserved for only the most trusted of subjects," Jeremy knew he wasn't repressing the scorn as he spoke, but he didn't care.

He offered the glass to Miles, noting the look of horrified shock on his face. Jeremy chuckled darkly, the man really was dense.

"What did you expect he'd do, Miles?"

He watched Miles bring the tumbler to his mouth and drain half of it at once, as though the liquor would fortify him. Not likely.

"Technically, it was Springfield, the closest to home, but I figure at that point, it really doesn't matter. I don't know that it was ever an order, you know? More an implicit understanding. It wasn't so bad at first. He thought you'd come back. Then he thought you'd been captured, that didn't last as long. He sent search parties for you, did you know?” He nodded at Miles’ look and took a drink. “Yeah, big parties, too. No one wanted to be part of them, though…they were sent to work camps, the ones that didn't find you."

"Jeremy - "

"That was pretty standard, though, thinking about it. He kept saying it's what you'd've done. No, the weird part was being sent away after about a year. I'd done everything for him, no matter what."

Jeremy drained his glass and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "But, you want to know the worst part? I'd lost both of you and I never knew why. Not really. Sure, Monroe sent me away because he couldn't handle being around me, I knew I reminded him of you, I didn't expect to be enough for him. Still don't," Jeremy paused, a sad smile on his lips as he poured another drink. "But, I was sent away from everything I knew. Not just Monroe. No, it wasn't just 'don't come near me ever again', it was a punishment."

Miles hadn't moved from his spot by the window, it seemed as though he was barely breathing. Jeremy didn't know what to make of any of it. It was like once he'd started, he couldn’t stop the words, no matter how much he wanted to.

"Why'd you warn me about the trap, Miles? Why are you coming with me? Because, I've got to tell you, this needs to be real."

"I don't know - "

"Screw you, Miles."

"Wait, Jeremy, just wait. I don't know why I warned you about the trap. I wasn't sure there was a trap, but it's Nora, so there was a good chance of it."

"I've got a theory about that, by the way. I think I know why you warned me."

"Then why the hell did you ask me?"

"Because you should know."

Miles held his hands out, hip cocked to the side. "Enlighten me."

"He tried to be you, do you know? Monroe, he poured everything into being you. It was never enough though, and he knew it. He started relying on Neville a lot more, too. Especially once I was…gone, and Strausser. Since he couldn’t find you and he couldn't be you, he tried to _make_ you from a bunch of mismatched pieces."

Miles rubbed his brow. "Damnit, Bass."

"You just left us, Miles. No one knew anything. And we all had to deal with it. Monroe went crazy and I went back to being alone. Which was mostly okay because I didn't think I'd ever see you again. Then, in the middle of a _rebel_ camp, there you are and then I've got a sword to my throat."

"You were trying to kill me."

"I thought I was crazy. The distance from home catching up to me or something. You couldn’t have been there, but you were. Do you have any idea what that was like for me? Seeing you again?"

"Yeah, actually, I do."

"I never thought to see you with a bunch of rebels."

"I wasn't. Nora was and I was with her."

Jeremy's eyes widened as a grin spread across his face. "You don't say."

"Not like that, not anymore. She's good at blowing stuff up, the bridge was her handiwork."

"Why did you need Nora if you weren't working with the rebels?"

"Charlie."

Jeremy waited for Miles to continue. He didn't. He moved away from the window and poured himself a refill before pulling off his boots and settling himself in the wing-backed chair near the fireplace. Even barefoot, he was an imposing figure sprawled on the chair as though he were still the leader of the whole damn world.

"Neville found my brother. I'm guessing he was going to use Ben to get to me, but it went sideways and one of Neville's men shot him. He knew he couldn’t go back with nothing, so he took Ben's son, Danny. His sister, Charlie, was sent to find me. It was Ben's dying breath or something. She found me in Chicago, but managed to get tailed by a guy from Neville's unit which put us on the militia's radar. The sniper rifle, that was Nora's idea. She wanted to give it to the rebels and the only way I could convince her to come with me was to let her do it. You were there for the rest."

"You know, that still doesn't answer the question, Miles. Your _family_ was trying to save you and you warned us off."

Miles had a dark look on his face. "They're not my family, Jeremy."

"They seem to think you are. They hunted down Uncle Miles for a reason."

Miles laughed bitterly and finished off the whiskey. "Yeah, I'm real good at killing people. That's what Ben told Charlie when he sent her after me."

"What were you going to do?"

Jeremy couldn’t keep the edge of accusation from his voice. He had a bad feeling about Miles' answer.

"We were going to get Danny back."

"From Neville?"

"Or Bass."

"And now what? You've just forgotten Danny?"

Miles held his head in his hands. "I don't know, Jeremy. I just don't know."

"Well, you'd better figure it out, Miles. You can't be both. You can't be here with me on the way back to Monroe and with them. It doesn't work that way, kid."

"What do you want from me, Jeremy?"

Jeremy flinched. "I want you to fucking choose! Figure out who the fuck you are and then fucking _be_ him."

Jeremy stormed out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him. It was childish, but it made him feel better. It was all just too much. He cared, in spite of himself, he cared. It hurt to know that Miles was hurt and that clearly he was torn between who he'd been as General Matheson, and who he'd become in the time he'd been away. But, he was tired of feeling for Miles. He was just so tired. He paced the hallway. He didn't know how long he was out there, but the door opened. Miles stood in the doorway, hair disheveled, shirt half open. He looked wrecked and it gave Jeremy a perverse joy to see it.

"Come to bed."

It was an order. He'd switched back to General Matheson. Jeremy was tired, he knew he wouldn’t sleep without Miles, but he couldn't handle the swing from General Matheson to not General Matheson. It was exhausting and Jeremy never knew which he was going to get.

"No."

"Damnit, Jeremy. Don't be an idiot. We both need to sleep. That won't happen if you're not in here."

"I don't care. I'm not going in there."

"I swear, Jeremy, if you don't get your ass in here - "

"What? What exactly will you do?" He was screaming, but he'd quit caring. Something he was doing more and more recently. He hated it.

"Nothing. I won't do a damn thing. Do whatever the hell you want."

Jeremy jumped when the door slammed shut. Terrific. He didn't want to be in the hallway all night. He didn't want to be in a different bedroom. Jeremy slid to the ground, knees tucked up under his chin. Why couldn't Miles have just not left in the first place? What gave him the right to screw up everyone else's life? It was all just one giant nightmare and Jeremy was terrified it would be worse than it had been before Knightstown, and Jeremy didn't think he'd live through it. Miles had made a step, for him at least, he'd offered. Ordered, but when you're Miles, was there really a difference? It's not like he treated anyone any differently. He spoke and things happened.

Jeremy stood, his legs sore from being bent up for so long and moved into the room as quietly as possible. He couldn't make out much, but Miles wasn't in the chair and his shirt was on the table next to a mostly empty decanter of whiskey. Jeremy smirked. He and Monroe both tended to drink their emotions. All of their emotions. Jeremy toed off his shoes and crawled into the bed. Before he could even close his eyes, Miles wrapped himself around him. Just as his eyes were fluttering closed, Jeremy felt Miles press a kiss to the back of his head. He'd be content tonight. Round two would happen soon enough.

  The sun woke him up. He'd slept, but he still felt tired, memories of last night's conversation filtering through his mind. Behind him, he felt Miles shift closer, his arm wrapping around him a bit more securely. It was dangerous for Jeremy to allow himself to get comfortable with Miles, especially like this. Miles had admitted it last night, he didn't know if he was in or out…and Jeremy couldn’t afford to get attached to something that was going to disappear again. It was fortunate they were leaving today, really. It meant he didn't need to have another conversation with Miles, not a real one like they'd had last night. Until Miles decided who he was going to be, Jeremy didn't really think there was much left for them to talk about. He wasn't excited about the waiting, though.

"Quit moving," Miles mumbled against Jeremy's neck. "It's still early. The men won't be up for another hour."

"Fine," Jeremy replied as he resettled in the bed. This wasn't exactly helping him keep his distance, but Miles was keeping his word, he wasn't pulling away. He would probably end up paying for it later, but Jeremy allowed himself to enjoy the feel of Miles holding him, knowing they were both awake, that it wasn't just a sleep thing where they could both pretend it wasn't happening. He moved his hand up to cover Miles' expecting Miles to tense and pull his hand away, but he didn't. Miles spread his fingers, allowing Jeremy to slide his in between, so that Miles could hold them. The position was awkward, but Jeremy would rather chop off his hand than move it.

Eventually though, they were both forced from bed. The militia wouldn't march itself, well, unless Jeremy told it to, which was tempting, but impractical. Jeremy went to get them both coffee, and he couldn't keep the silly little smile off his face. When he came back, Miles was still in the bed, covers pulled up over his head.

"I have coffee," Jeremy called. "I'm putting it here on the table. You can have some when you pull your lazy ass out of bed."

Miles peeked out of the covers to glare at him, but it was only with one eye, so Jeremy didn't really think it was all that effective because he couldn’t help thinking how cute Miles looked when he was disgruntled and wrapped in the sheets. He smiled as he turned to finish getting ready. He didn't have to wait long before he heard Miles pad over to the coffee. Jeremy looked over and couldn't help but appreciate the way Miles looked as the early morning light streamed through the gossamer curtains, both hands cupped around the mug of steaming coffee, eyes looking out the window. Miles never wore a shirt when he slept, or socks, no matter how cold it was, it was always just shorts. Monroe was the one who would wear a shirt and socks and if it was cold enough, even a jacket.

"How far today?" Miles asked.

Jeremy blinked away the memories of Miles and Monroe both in bed with him at night and walked over to the table, his maps still spread out on the top.

"We're going to try for Buckeye."

"The airport?"

"Yeah. The hangars have been appropriated and it will give the men another night they don’t need to set up a full camp."

Jeremy watched as Miles nodded and traced a finger across the map. He looked so much more like the Miles he remembered that it was almost painful to look at him. Monroe and Miles would spend hours looking over the maps in the early days of the Republic when the borderlines were less defined and more likely than not to change overnight. As with everything else they did, Miles and Monroe would silently nod to each other as their fingers moved along the map, stopping at certain points, a silent conversation happening, before moving on to the next point.

"We might start sending scouts out ahead of us, in pairs in case they find something. Increasing the night watch to avoid surprises. We have the men for it."

Jeremy crossed his arms as he leaned back against the window, watching Miles become General Matheson. It was amusing because he doubted Miles realized what he was doing. Jeremy decided to keep his damn mouth shut and maybe Miles would realize it on his own, remember how much he liked it and decide to stick around this time. Jeremy should be a bit affronted that Miles decided he got to start coming up with plans and giving orders, but he kept saying _we_ and Jeremy found he couldn’t be angry. They had enough horses now that maybe he could have Miles put on a horse instead of in the wagon, maybe tie his hands to the saddle or something. Sometime between falling asleep and waking up, Jeremy had officially quit giving a damn about what the men thought about their prisoner. Miles hadn't made up his mind, but that didn't mean Jeremy couldn't _help_ him come to the right decision.

"I'll go have the scouts leave now. We should leave within the hour."

Miles nodded and Jeremy smiled to himself as he left the room. He found two men who'd acted as scouts before and gave them Miles' orders. Walking outside, Jeremy watched the men pack up everything and smiled. Things were finally starting to look normal again. He went over to where men were loading the wagon.

"Fill it up. I'm putting the prisoner on a horse. With the extra weapons we're taking, we'll need the space in the wagon."

Jeremy didn't like having to explain himself, but it made things easier. At least this excuse sounded feasible. The men nodded and began piling more weapons into the wagon. Even being on the outer edges of the Republic, Jeremy knew the rumors about the area close to Philadelphia, knew how the rebels continuously attacked settlements and troop movements in and out of the capital city. He wasn't looking forward to that part of the journey, but he felt more confident about it with Miles seemingly more like his old self.

He went back to the room and Miles was fully dressed, sitting in the chair reading a book. The image was achingly familiar, even if Jeremy couldn't tell which book it was. He wondered where Miles got the book from, but really didn't want to think about it too hard in case Miles had done something he'd have to explain away later. He cleared his throat and watched Miles look up a small smile on his lips. Jeremy smiled in return.

"Let's go."

Miles nodded and stood, shoving the book inside his jacket, before holding his hands out in front of him.

Jeremy shook his head. "You can't ride a horse with your hands bound."

Miles cocked his head because you _could_ ride a horse with your hands bound, but he didn't argue the point. He simply shrugged and dropped his hands back to his sides.

"We've got a lot of supplies in the wagon this time. Not enough room for you."

Miles smiled. "Sure, Jeremy."

Jeremy walked to the door, his hand on the doorknob when he heard Miles' whispered thanks. He didn't say anything because he wasn't sure if he was meant to hear it or not. His crazy plan might just work. Allowing Miles to climb up on a horse of his own power and then not tying his hands caused some of the men to look at him questioningly, but Jeremy ignored them. The men's speculations weren't going to screw up all the work he'd put into Miles. He'd kill all of them if that's what it took to keep Miles. He doubted Monroe would blame him for it either. Might still give him the parade.

"The men keep looking at me like I'm going to make a run for it whenever they look away," Miles said.

They'd been moving for a couple of hours when Miles slowed his horse to ride next to Jeremy. It wasn't exactly the conversation he'd been expecting. He gave Miles a sidelong look. Miles eyes met his, slightly amused. Jeremy's own gaze darkened.

"Do you blame them?"

Miles' entire body went rigid. Jeremy cursed himself silently. He hadn't meant it to come out so accusatory, but it had and he meant it. It's not like it wasn't true. Not that the men knew, but that wasn't really what they were talking about, at least not anymore.

"No, I don't. I'm not running this time. Didn't exactly work out the first time. No sense in doing it again."

Hope soared through Jeremy before he could stop it. He knew it wasn't an answer, not running wasn’t the same as agreeing to stay. Not running simply meant he'd go all the away to Philadelphia, and he still might choose his "family" over Monroe and the militia. Even knowing all of this wasn't enough to keep Jeremy from allowing the hope to settle inside his heart.

"Good. That's good, Miles."

Miles looked at him and it was another one of those looks he couldn't quite figure out, but it wasn't hostile, if anything it was lost. Jeremy didn't know how to process it, so he didn’t. He moved his horse forward a bit and gave new march orders to the sergeants leading the troops.

It wasn't until after they stopped briefly for lunch that Jeremy moved his horse back next to Miles'. He didn't want to break the truce or whatever it was they'd established that morning because of one stupid comment.

"You know what I miss?" Jeremy asked.

Miles looked at him. "What?"

"Books."

Miles face didn't change, but Jeremy felt something shift. This might be a touchier subject than he'd first thought, but it was Miles' own fault for sitting in the chair reading as though it was the most normal thing in the world.

"You know, reading at night, after everyone else was asleep. Monroe would pull a book from the shelf and settle in for the night. With those stupid reading glasses on the edge of his nose. He always blamed the low light from the lamps."

"He always claimed he didn't need them before the blackout."

"I could've listened to him read the phone book, you know? His voice would get soft and I'd fall asleep listening to him read Thoreau or Emerson."

"I always told him that's where his aesthetic kink came from, those damn books he'd read."

"He quit reading after you left. Men came in one morning and took all the books away. We didn't talk about it."

Jeremy watched Miles' face closely. He saw the way his words affected him. It wasn't him trying to be a jackass either, it was just the truth. Miles looked like someone had sucker punched him in the gut. Jeremy didn't feel bad though, after all, it wasn't his fault Miles had cut and run. Miles pulled the book from his pocket and handed it to him. Jeremy looked at Miles curiously, but took the book. It was a copy of _Walden_. Jeremy's eyes snapped up to Miles' face. It was _Monroe's_ copy of _Walden_. Miles wouldn't meet his gaze. Jeremy turned the book over in his hands as though it were made of glass. He opened the front cover. The dedication was still there. Jeremy traced the words and focused on breathing.

"You took it with you," Jeremy whispered.

"Yeah."

"Why'd you take it, Miles?"

Miles did look at him then and it was painful to see the despair, the regret in his eyes. "You know why."

He did, but he was hoping Miles would say it aloud. They didn't talk the rest of the way to Buckeye. Jeremy was okay with the silence, they both had a lot of things to process, a lot of things to think about. Miles moved freely around the camp that night; it didn't make any sense to tie him up when he'd been lose all day. Besides, maybe getting the men used to seeing Miles moving around would make it easier for them to accept the truth of who he was. The truth was going to come out, Jeremy could feel it in his bones. Now, it was just a matter of when the truth came out, and he would bet his life it would be before they reached Philly.

Jeremy watched Miles move among the men, watched how the men went from being distrustful to listening intently to whatever it was Miles said. He had that effect. People just wanted to follow him. Miles avoided the sergeants and the other officers, as if he knew it would take more than a bit of his charm to get them to trust him. Jeremy left Miles to his own devices and went into the hanger established as the command tent. The scouts had come back with no news, which concerned Jeremy. They were simply too close to Philadelphia for there to be no rebels, no enemies of the Republic. The fact that they couldn't find them was concerning. He was looking at the map as though it would reveal the location of the rebels when he heard the hangar door open and close.

"I don’t like it."

Jeremy didn't have to ask what "it" was. "I don't either."

"Some of the men we picked up in Columbus have heard rumors about rebel activity in the area, but didn't have any specific information."

"Terrific."

"Send out more scouts in the morning, have them leave before daybreak. We might get lucky."

Jeremy snorted. They both knew better. He rested his hand on Miles' shoulder as he moved past him. They exchanged at look before Jeremy left to go check on the watch and assign new scouts. Miles had dropped the "we", but the whole exchange had been more conversation than anything else and that gave Jeremy hope.

When he came back in, Miles had extinguished all the lamps except the one by the bed, but he wasn't in it. He was standing by the hangar bay doors, looking out through the cracked glass. Jeremy wasn't sure what he'd be able to see, but he moved over and stood just slightly behind Miles.

"I thought I'd miss city lights," Miles said. "Right after the lights went out, that's what I thought I'd miss, but I don't. Not after the first few nights. It was easier to see without the lights."

Jeremy didn't know what to say. It wasn't like Miles to be introspective and philosophical, but he was. Miles turned away from the window, just looked at Jeremy before smiling briefly and moving towards the bed. Jeremy watched Miles sit on the edge of the bed and strip off his shirt and toe off his boots before crawling under the covers.

"Turn the light out when you come to bed."

"Sure, Miles."

There wasn't anything else to say. Jeremy stayed awake for a while longer, just watching Miles sleep. It was as though something more significant than either of them had happened during the day. Things had been improving since Columbus, steadily growing into something, but somehow held in check. Today though, it hadn't been. Miles was being _Miles_ in a way he hadn't been. Jeremy found himself beginning to trust this Miles, trust that this time Miles would leave. He actually allowed himself to think that Miles would go back to Philadelphia and make everything better…fix it. It was his problem, his responsibility, but Jeremy finally believed that Miles just might recognize that for himself. Maybe Miles would be able fix him and Monroe, too. He climbed into bed and settled back against Miles who wrapped himself around Jeremy.

It was easier in the morning, with Miles being "free" to roam around freely. The men were ready to leave sooner than they had been any other day and Miles continued to seem more and more like himself. Jeremy couldn't help but admire him for it. He'd always loved watching Miles be the General…watching him take charge of situations and make decisions. It fit him. They reached Zanesville without any problems and with no news from their scouts. They'd increased the number of scouts and had them go further out along their course. Jeremy knew the rebels were out there, and he was determined to find them before they found the militia.

Jeremy and Miles were reviewing the inventory lists when one of the scouts came into the tent, breathing heavily, and eyes wide.

"What is it?" Jeremy asked.

"We found the rebels, sir."

"Well?"

"They're camped near Senecaville Lake. It's a large group of them, at least a hundred. They have weapons, sir."

"Guns?"

"Yes sir."

"Thank you, corporal. You're dismissed."

"Yes sir."

Miles pulled the map out and unrolled it. Jeremy pointed to where they were and traced along until he found Senecaville Lake.

"It's closer than I'd like," Miles commented. "It'll still take them five and half hours to reach us at Cambridge."

"They might know we're coming. We're not the only ones with scouts. If they really have the numbers we were given, they're bound to be organized. It's a rebel base, a small one, but still."

"We should go further north," Miles said as he moved his finger across the map. "Stay on highway 22 once we reach Cambridge. That'll take us closer to Salt Fork Lake, put a few more hours between us and the rebel camp."

"I'll send out more scouts, have some follow the rebels, see what their movements are. Hopefully they don’t know we're coming."

"We're not that lucky."

Jeremy nodded. He left the tent, movements efficient as he went in search of his sergeants. They needed to send out scouts now. Information was time sensitive and time was always their enemy, especially if the rebels had guns. It just made things more complicated.

They were all more cautious the next day when they packed camp and began the march to Cambridge. Word of the rebel camp had spread through the ranks like wildfire, as all good gossip did. The scouts hadn't reported anything new, which was troubling. Miles had been particularly quiet all night and all morning. Jeremy knew it was because Miles was thinking about the journey, running through all of the scenarios, all of the possible outcomes. It was what made him a good leader. When they made it to Cambridge without incident, the men began to relax, most thinking it was just bad intel. It only increased Jeremy's anxiety, like the calm before a storm. Miles had a similar wariness in his eyes, in his movements.

When they made camp that night, Jeremy ordered the watch doubled and sent out even more scouts, hoping for some sort of information. Miles had commandeered a large portion of coffee, clearly knowing neither of them would sleep that night. Miles had plotted a new course that would take them about 35 miles north of their initial route, taking them through Pittsburg as they entered Pennsylvania. Once in Pittsburg, they would move south through Mt. Pleasant putting them more or less on a straight line for Philadelphia.

Jeremy woke up and it was still dark outside. He looked around him, not remembering going to bed, but his boots were off and he was wrapped up in a blanket. He saw Miles still standing by the desk, and figured he must have put Jeremy to bed. He felt bad for having fallen asleep, but it made him feel warm on the inside because it meant things were still growing closer to normal.

"Did you sleep at all?" he asked as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

"No," Miles answered, "I didn't let the men wake you up. One of the scouts came back and confirmed that there are men at Senacaville, but according to him, it's not as many men."

"The men just told you this information? Miles, they still think you're a prisoner."

"They didn't tell me, but when I wouldn’t let him wake you up, he went and told someone outside. I heard them talking."

Jeremy laughed. "At least we know something. We should get the men moving quickly this morning. I want to be out of this area."

Miles nodded. They had the men ready to move as soon as the sun began to rise. They were tired and most were irritated that they were moving so soon, especially since it appeared that the information was bad, but Jeremy ignored them. He had a bad feeling, and he didn't ignore those, especially when Miles was having the same feeling. An hour outside Cambridge it all went to hell. Jeremy lost sight of Miles as the first wave of rebels attacked their caravan. One part of their intel had been accurate, these men all had guns. It wasn't long before Jeremy was forced from his horse as the rebels swarmed around them like locusts, there were just so many of them. He felt a sword slice through his arm and spun to stab his attacker just as another rebel made a low jab at his calf. Jeremy managed to slice deeply into his torso before he fell back, hitting the ground hard enough to knock the wind from him. Another rebel stood above him, gun pointed directly at his head. Jeremy worked to get back to his feet, but the rebel froze and jerked, a sword tip protruding from his chest before Jeremy could move. When the rebel body fell away, Miles was standing in front of him, eyes dark with anger, chest heaving with the exertion of battle. It looked good on him. Jeremy didn't have long to admire him because they both needed to fight off another attack. It seemed like hours before the fighting ended. Once the surprise had worn off, the men were able to gain the upper hand and they managed to kill every rebel they found.

Jeremy was leaving the slipshod field hospital when he heard a commotion from near the command tent. He quickly made his way over there, ignoring both the throbbing in his leg and the limp. A group of four men was trying to restrain a wildly fighting Miles. He had several cuts on his face and the beginnings of a black eye, which he was fairly certain had been gained after the fighting had ended. When Miles caught his eye, Jeremy watched as he seemed effortlessly to break free from the men and then Miles was in front of him. Jeremy stood perfectly still as Miles' intense gaze roamed over his body, noting all the bruises and bandages.

"I'm okay, Miles."

Miles' eyes jerked up to meet his and Miles mumbled "damnit" before he captured Jeremy's lips in a fierce kiss. Jeremy moaned into it before he really had a chance to process that Miles was kissing him. Miles had his hands on either side of Jeremy's face and the kiss was all tongue and teeth. Jeremy blinked rather dumbly when Miles was jerked away from him. The four men once more trying to secure Miles.

"Stop."

They all stopped and looked at him.

"Let him go."

"Sir, he's a prisoner. He had a weapon."

Jeremy rolled his eyes, but was glad they were choosing not talk about the rather intense kiss. "And do you know what he did with that weapon?"

The man didn't answer, just shared a confused look with the other men who were smart enough to keep their damn mouths shut.

"He used it to save me. He used it to kill the rebels who attacked us."

"Sir," a different man began, a bit more hesitantly, "he did knock one of the lieutenants unconscious."

Jeremy looked at Miles who shrugged. "He wouldn't give me a sword. So I took his."

"Thank you, men. You're dismissed."

"But, sir - "

"He didn't save me during the battle only to kill me now. Dismissed."

Jeremy and Miles didn't say anything for a few minutes once they were alone inside the tent. Miles kept looking at him, eyes focusing on the areas he'd been bandaged. It wasn't as bad as it looked. A few days and he'd be back to normal, but Miles looked as though he were thinking of ways to lock him up in a safe somewhere.

"I'm okay, Miles."

"You almost got shot."

"I didn't."

"I almost didn't get to you in time. I spent as much time fighting off the men as I did the rebels and you almost died because of that."

Jeremy looked away.

"I want my sword back, Jeremy."

It wasn't a surprising request, for all that it wasn't really a request. Jeremy nodded, more to himself than to Miles. If they were going to do this, if Miles was going to take his sword back, then he wasn't going to stand in the way. He moved over to his pack and pulled the sword out; he hadn't given it to the men, he couldn’t. It was Miles' and always would be. He held it out to Miles, eyes full of questions.

"We're going to have to tell the men something."

"We'll tell them the truth."

Jeremy raised his eyebrows.

"You told me to choose. I did."

Miles sighed and rubbed his eyes before taking the sword from Jeremy and setting it next to him. When he looked back up, Jeremy almost took a step back. He was no longer looking at the same Miles he'd found in St. Anne, nor was it the same Miles who'd been walking with him the last few days. He was staring at General Miles Matheson, Commanding General of the Monroe Republic.

Jeremy swallowed nosily. "Okay. General Matheson."

"Bass didn't revoke my rank?"

Jeremy shook his head. "Didn't replace you either. Keeps some of the Colonels around though. You're still the commanding general. Technically."

Miles nodded.

"When'd you decide?"

Miles huffed out a small laugh. "I decided back in St. Anne when I warned you about Nora blowing the bridge. You were right; I chose not to be rescued."

"And your family?"

Miles stood and walked over to him. He felt Miles grip his shoulders. "Charlie…Danny, they're Ben's kids, that was his family. I don't know them. You…Bass, you're my family."

Jeremy couldn't speak, couldn't move. Then Miles was kissing him again. It wasn't as frantic as the last one, but it was just as intense. Miles' hands moved up to hold Jeremy's head and gripped his hair, pulling slightly. Jeremy wrapped his arms around Miles, forcing their bodies closer together. They stayed like that for a few minutes, Jeremy terrified he'd wake up and realize it had all been a dream. Eventually, Miles pulled back slightly, eyes soft.

"You should go check on the men. I'll be here."

Jeremy smirked. "Yes, sir."

Miles smiled and kissed him once more.

It was hours before Jeremy returned to the command tent. News of his kiss with the "prisoner" had spread faster than the rumors about the rebels and he'd been diverting questions all night. It was easier than it would have been under other circumstances because he could legitimately tell them off. They all had more important things to think about. There were dozens of injured men, on top of the dozens they'd been burying. He'd answer the rumors tomorrow, with Miles. Miles was barefoot, but had his sword belt strapped on. Jeremy smiled. It must have been hard for Miles to be without it for two weeks since he always used to sleep with it strapped to him when they were in the field.

"How bad is it?"

"It could've been worse. I think our kiss gave the men something else to think about, took the sting out of losing so many men."

"Happy to help."

Miles turned and faced him, eyes still soft, lips slightly upturned…not quite a smile, but it was damn close.

"Come to bed," Miles said.

Jeremy nodded before he bent over to remove his boots. Miles was already under the covers, but sitting up, a distant look on his face. He lifted his arm when Jeremy climbed in and Jeremy snuggled up against Miles' side. Miles fingers traced patterns against his fabric of his shirt, and Jeremy felt it all the way to his toes. They were quiet for a while and Jeremy wondered why the lamp was still lit, but Miles fingers were soothing so he didn't think too much about it.

"'However mean your life is, meet it and live it; do not shun it and call it hard names. It is not so bad as you are. It looks poorest when you are richest. The fault-finder will find faults even in paradise. Love your life, poor as it is.'"

Miles' voice was soft and lilting as he whispered the words, his breath warm on Jeremy's ear. It was vaguely familiar to Jeremy, but he couldn't place it. It was beautiful to hear Miles recite.

"You asked me why I left and I didn't answer you. I couldn’t. Don't know if I can, not really. It was…hard, watching Bass change, knowing I was the reason he was changing. I was selfish."

A million thoughts raced through Jeremy's head. Miles was selfish for leaving, but he was coming back, so he could forgive him, right? He'd saved his life, which wasn't necessarily new, but in the light of their situation it couldn't just be dismissed. Part of him wanted to blame Miles more, wanted to yell, wanted not to forgive him, wanted to go and pout in the corner, if he were being completely honest, but he couldn’t do any of that because then he'd really lose Miles and he wouldn't live through it. Not a second time.

"'You may perhaps have some pleasant, thrilling, glorious hours, even in a poorhouse. The setting sun is reflected from the windows of the almshouse as brightly as from the rich man's abode; the snow melts before its door as early in the spring.'" Miles paused, his hand even stopped tracing patterns on his arm. Jeremy looked up and Miles was staring at the ceiling, a pained expression on his face. "'What a man thinks of himself, that it is which determines, or rather indicates, his fate.'"

Jeremy waited for Miles to say something else, but he didn't. Miles kissed him on the cheek before turning to extinguish the lamp and pulled Jeremy into his arms. For a while Jeremy just listened to Miles breathing, secure in the knowledge that Miles was still real and they were going to be okay. Something he was only hoping for just yesterday. Sure, they'd tell the men that the prisoner was in fact Miles Matheson, worth 500,000 MTD on the Monroe Republic's Watch List, and standing Commanding General of the Monroe Republic. The men would flip their shit, but he was less concerned about them trying to kill Miles because there is no reward for a dead Miles. Monroe might be slightly insane, but he wasn't stupid. No, Jeremy's primary concern was the men wanting to use every single restraint they had on Miles, throw him in a box, put the box in the wagon and move like hell to Philadelphia. Which, really, wasn't a bad plan. But, Miles wouldn't let them, and they would die. Or Miles wouldn’t let them and then he'd leave. Again. Jeremy pushed the thoughts away. They'd convince the men that it would all be okay. They had to.

Warm lips against his neck woke him up in the morning. He smiled and arched his neck, giving Miles better access. Miles' lips traveled up his neck before pulling Jeremy's earlobe into his mouth, Miles sucked it, the sound wet and obscene.

"Morning," Miles whispered.

Jeremy was going to respond, but Miles had other plans, his lips covering Jeremy's before he could utter a word. He was okay with that, really. Jeremy brought his hand up and cupped Miles' face, feeling the two-day scruff against his fingers. As Miles continued to kiss him, Jeremy thought he could get rather used to having Miles wake him up like this each morning. He loved kissing Miles, secretly more than he liked kissing Monroe. There was something so deeply possessive about the way Miles kissed that he couldn't help but curl his toes and hold on for dear life.

"We have to tell the men," Miles said against Jeremy's lips.

Jeremy turned his head away and groaned. He really didn't want to, he'd much rather just stay in bed and kiss Miles. They couldn't move the camp, not with so many men with fresh injuries. It wasn't ideal, but they had secured their current location.

"We should pull all the officers and sergeants. Tell them first. If we get them on board, then the rest of the men will follow."

Jeremy nodded. It was a good plan, but that didn't make him want to have the conversation any more than he had before the good plan. He felt Miles' laugh as he pulled him closer and nuzzled the back of his neck. Miles pressed small kisses to the nape of his neck and Jeremy never wanted to move.

"It'll be okay."

"I don't like how you define 'okay', Miles."

"No one does."

Jeremy rolled his eyes, glad Miles couldn’t see his face. He felt Miles move from the bed and rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow. Jeremy let out an undignified squeak when Miles swatted his ass.

"Let's go, Captain."

"Yes, sir."

Ten minutes later they were both dressed and had each had one cup of coffee. Jeremy idly wondered if Miles would object to their next cup being filled with something a bit stronger. Even without the uniform, Miles looked like he was in command, his eyes wearing the carefully blank look, his sword belt strapped to his waist as though it had always been there. Jeremy wanted to peel off all his clothes and put him back in bed. The thought must have registered on his face because Miles winked and blew a kiss at him. Grumbling about masters of the universe being great teases, Jeremy marched out of the command tent to gather the officers and NCOs.

Jeremy made the mistake of not being the first one to enter the tent and by the time he caught up with the lead officers, they had their swords drawn and were moving closer to Miles. It could have been a lot worse, Jeremy noted absently. Miles didn't have his sword out, which meant he was willing to wait a bit before killing the men. Jeremy shoved his way through the dozen or so men and put himself between Miles and his officers.

"Put it away, lieutenant."

"Sir, the prisoner is armed."

"Yes, and do you know what he's going to do with that sword if you don't put yours away?" Jeremy asked, voice annoyed. This wasn't starting well.

"Jeremy," Miles said, a hand on his shoulder, "It's okay. They're doing what I trained them to do."

The lieutenant paused, eyes moving between Miles and Jeremy. He didn't lower his sword, but his stance was much less aggressive. Jeremy released the breath he'd been holding and moved to stand next to Miles.

"What do you mean?" the lieutenant asked, voice harsh and demanding.

"This is Miles Matheson," Jeremy said. "President Monroe's second in command."

Eyes wide, the lieutenant's arm dropped to his side. The other officers and NCOs wore similar looks of shock and Jeremy bit the inside of his mouth to keep from laughing. This reaction was way better than the padre and his ragtag band of rebels.

"I don't understand," the lieutenant continued slowly.

"General Matheson is returning to Philadelphia," Jeremy stated.

"He's a war criminal. He can't just wander around the camp…loose."

"I ordered the Captain to return my sword. Until I'm convicted of a crime, I'm still the Commanding General," Miles replied.

The lieutenant took a step closer to Miles, a not so subtle challenge. "You know the rules, _sir_. You know Monroe will kill us if we don't follow protocol. You are accused of treason. You did surrender to the Captain, which makes you a prisoner. No exceptions."

Jeremy held his breath as he watched Miles. He didn't move, didn't appear interested at all, which was more worrying than anything Jeremy could think of.

"You're right. I do know the rules. As you said, I made them. Are you challenging the Captain's decision? Do you question his command?"

The lieutenant had the good sense to look nervous.

"Yes, I am."

Jeremy closed his eyes, so much for good sense. He looked over at Miles who was nodding slowly, eyes hooded.

"Okay," Miles said as he drew his sword. Before anyone could react, Miles as slit the lieutenant's throat. Jeremy sighed, both relieved and a bit irritated. General Matheson was back, and it seemed anyone who wasn't on board was going to die. He didn't want to dig any more holes.

"Anyone else want to question the Captain's decision?"

A chorus of stammered "no, sirs" followed his question. Jeremy shook his head slightly. It wasn't quite as bad as he'd pictured, but it wasn't exactly how he wanted the discussion to go.

"We'll take care of the body, General," the sergeant said.

"Good."

When they were once more alone, Jeremy glared at Miles, who gave him a wide-eyed expression in return.

"What? I told you it would be okay."

"You really need to quit defining okay like that."

Miles smiled and crowded in close to Jeremy, his eyes dark and intense. "It is okay. No one is going to question it now."

There really wasn't anything to say to that, so Jeremy just nodded. Miles brought his hands up and cupped Jeremy's face, thumbs idly stroking his cheeks. Jeremy's eyes fluttered closed. He felt Miles brush their lips together teasingly before deepening the kiss. Jeremy moaned into it and brought his hands up to cover Miles'. Reluctantly, Jeremy pulled back, searching Miles' eyes.

"Now what?"

"We'll need to redistribute the supplies. Put the injured men in the wagons. We can't stay here. We'll need to make Cadiz in a day, we can't do that with injured men. Not easily, but we need to move as quickly as we can, reach Pittsburg."

That wasn't what Jeremy meant, but if Miles was going to just let things progress naturally, well, he wasn't exactly in a position to do it any differently. They had a lot to do and Miles was probably right, the sooner he just started _acting_ like the General, the sooner the men would accept him as the General.

It was actually a lot simpler than Jeremy thought it would be. They'd packed camp, loaded the injured men in the wagons, just as Miles instructed. The men were a bit hesitant to take directions from Miles, but when the sergeants and officers complied, the rest of the men soon followed. Nights were still Jeremy's favorite times. He and Miles would spend hours together in bed, nothing serious, but it was enough for Jeremy. Miles would kiss him as though it was his final act on earth. They were four days outside Pittsburg and the closer they got to the city, the wilder the rumors were. Miles didn't seem overly concerned, in fact, most of them made him smile. The most common rumor had Miles acting as a deep undercover spy within the resistance and the bounty was the code Monroe had set up to signal Miles. Other rumors included Miles brainwashing Jeremy into believing he was General Matheson and once they got to Philly, Monroe would kill him.

Pittsburg almost felt like home. They reached the edge of the city a few hours before sundown, the Monroe Republic flag flying high above them. Jeremy realized he wasn't actively glaring at it, the reminder of home not as painful as it had been. The Liberty Bridge was the only one still standing, the others blown up to control the flow of people in and out of the city. It was the bridge closest to what used to be the Allegheny County Courthouse and Old Jail and was now the second largest command post of the Monroe Republic. Jeremy sighed because it was also the last place before they reached Philadelphia where they'd be able to sleep in real beds, in real buildings. He wondered if he'd be able to convince Miles to let them stay for a few days.

 Jeremy caught up with Miles outside the command building. He was looking over a report the men they'd left behind to scout out the rebels had brought. Miles looked so natural there, even without a uniform, developing plans for attack, giving orders. He was glad the men had become used to Miles giving orders during their trip to Pittsburg, it helped keep the local garrison from asking too many questions, but it didn't stop the rumors which were as rampant here as they had been in the smaller outposts. Jeremy walked up to Miles when the scout left.

"I was there once," Jeremy mentioned, pointing toward the Bridge of Sigh's replica, "the real one in Italy. My father took us when we were kids, wanted to give us some sort of culture, you know? Funny how some things just don't matter anymore."

"Ben was always the one concerned with culture. I never understood it, really. Not until it was too late."

Jeremy could count on one hand the number of times Miles had ever talked about his brother. He felt as though he should respond, but he didn't know what to say. It wasn't exactly intimate information, but they never spoke about it, not even Monroe.

"Come on, I need to you to get me more men," Miles said as he threw his arm around Jeremy.

"I can't," Jeremy said. "I'll meet you in a few minutes. I've got something to take care of first."

"Sure."

Jeremy smiled as he turned and walked back towards the supply depot they'd set up in one of the nearby buildings. He wasn't entirely sure this was the best plan, but he hadn't exactly been exercising caution so far, so he figured there was no point in starting now. He was certain Miles wouldn’t kill him over it. Mostly certain. Either way, it was done.

"Captain," the logistics officer greeted.

"Lieutenant, is my order ready?"

"Yep, I've got it in the back. Be right back, sir."

Jeremy nodded. He'd been thinking about it for days, long before they decided to tell the men Miles' identity. Probably as far back as Indianapolis, but he'd never admit to that. It was just so necessary in his mind, the final piece to the puzzle. That's what it felt like to him, like was taking one of those thousand piece puzzles and putting all the pieces back together, but he didn't have the picture on the front of the box, only a vague memory. This was his last piece, Jeremy just hoped it worked.

"Here you are, Captain."

"Thanks," Jeremy said as he took the package. He walked quickly back to the headquarters building because he didn't want to lose his nerve, which he might. Without knowing how Miles would react, Jeremy was more than a bit concerned he'd undo all the progress he'd made in the past two weeks.

Miles was in front of one of the large windows, a drink in his hands. He turned when he heard the door shut.

"What's in the bag?"

Jeremy swallowed. No time like the present.

"It's for you, actually."

Miles face scrunched in confusion, but he set his glass on the table and walked over to Jeremy. Even though Miles was giving him a soft look, Jeremy couldn't breathe as Miles took the package out of his hands. He watched Miles undo the string, watched Miles face go carefully blank as he saw the neatly folded uniform. Miles was still as stone, and Jeremy wondered if either of them were breathing. He doubted it. He watched Miles slowly reach out and trace the lapel of the uniform jacket, but Jeremy still couldn't read his face. It was frustrating and more than a bit scary because Jeremy didn't know if he should cut and run now or not.

"Why?" Miles asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"I thought if you were going to act the part, you might as well look it to, you know?"

"I never thought I'd wear one of these again."

"Miles, you don't have to, really. I just figured you might want to."

"He always liked them. His whole Civil War fetish. Never understood it, still don't. But, you're right. I'm the General, right? 'Bout time I looked the part."

“You should see if it fits, I’m not sure I got the measurements right,” Jeremy said. It was inane, but he needed to say something, needed to keep Miles with him.

For a minute, Jeremy didn’t think Miles was going to do it, but then Miles nodded, almost to himself, and set the clothes down on the bed. He wanted to watch, to see Miles, really see him again, but it didn’t feel right. There was something a bit too personal about this for Jeremy to just voyeuristically ogle Miles. So he turned away, closed his eyes and imagined what it would look like to see Miles again. Would there be new scars? Miles never had any distinguishing marks, he was so good at keeping himself alive and intact, but maybe there was now. Had something happened while he’d been away? Would the definition in his arms and torso still be there, or had he gotten lax in his time in Chicago?

Jeremy pulled an image from his memory, one he swore he’d keep locked away forever, one that had been too painful to deal with after Miles left. It was fairly soon after they’d saved him, and he was just beginning to heal. They were holed up in an old building, food was running low, but they were managing. Miles wouldn’t allow Monroe to go out on his own, and he wouldn’t leave Jeremy alone. Monroe had called Miles six types of fool, but he hadn’t really pressed it. There had always been a sort of tenderness between them, even when they argued, which they did quite a bit in the early days. Miles always convinced he was doing what was necessary to keep people to save, to keep him and Monroe safe. Jeremy had to convince Miles he was well enough to move, not because he was, not really, but because they needed food. He’d realized as he watched Miles and Monroe argue just outside the room they’d set up for him, that Miles would starve himself before he put either of them in danger. Jeremy couldn’t let that happen; they’d already saved his life; he wouldn’t let them starve for him too. Laying there biting back the pain, Jeremy had realized he’d never be able to leave them, never be able to pay them back for what they’d done, what they were still doing for him.

“Well?”

Miles’ voice pulled Jeremy from the memory and he shook himself slightly before turning back around to face Miles. It was a good thing he hadn’t watched Miles change, he was pretty sure Miles wouldn’t have gotten the uniform on. He was striking, standing there tall and proud. It fit him perfectly, even though he could see Miles itching to pull at the collar. It’d always bothered him, the high collar, but it didn’t have a tie which Monroe thought was a pretty fair compromise. A lot of the time, when they were out in front of the men, Miles would have the top button undone, just to annoy Monroe.

“Boots are still the hardest to come by,” Jeremy commented. “I’m glad they had them in your size.”

“Yeah,” Miles responded distractedly.

“There’s a mirror, one of those old fashioned ones with the wooden frame.”

Miles nodded and followed Jeremy into the adjoining room. The mirror had been in a different part of the complex, but Jeremy had ordered it brought over when he’d come back with the uniform. He watched Miles compose himself, watched him take a deep breath, square his shoulders and face himself. Jeremy watched a series of looks cross Miles’ face, it was as though he was seeing himself for the first time. It was amazing because to Jeremy it seemed as though Miles didn’t realize this was how everyone saw him, even out of uniform, how he and Monroe would always see him. This was who he was…the uniform didn’t make the man, but it helped.

Jeremy smirked when Miles finally gave in and reached up to undo the top button. His movements were fast, habitual, to make sure Monroe didn’t notice until it was already done. Monroe would only mention it if he caught Miles in the act.

“It suits you,” Jeremy said as he walked up behind Miles, looking at the two of them in the mirror.

Miles didn’t say anything, but it didn’t bother Jeremy because Miles hadn’t immediately taken it off. It was probably still a lot to take in, a lot to process. It had been years since he’d worn one, and he’d somehow convinced himself that Monroe wouldn’t take him back, that he’d never be back in a uniform. It made Jeremy wonder what would have happened if he hadn’t found Miles. Jeremy didn’t like where that train of thought was leading him because he was fairly certain Miles wouldn’t have ever come back on his own. Which didn’t make any sense. Monroe had been beside himself, worried out of his mind…worried about Miles. The bounty had been issued once Monroe had given up hope of ever finding Miles…of Miles ever coming home. It had been the act of a desperate man, just like sending Jeremy away had been.

“Did you read the report?”

Jeremy shook his head. Back to business, always back to business with Miles. Weirdly, it meant everything was okay, at least okay as defined by Miles.

“No, not yet. Did they find the rebels?”

“Yeah, they’d scattered a bit after hearing about the skirmish, but they were able to track down a couple of the leaders. I’m having them brought to Philly for questioning. Bass needs to know.”

Jeremy nodded. “They’re getting braver, more organized.”

“I know.”

“That’s tomorrow’s problem. Tonight I want to drink good scotch in front of the fireplace and sleep in a real bed.”

“We can stay longer, Miles.”

“No, we really can’t.”

It almost looked like he’d wanted to say yes, but the set of his jaw had given his answer long before he’d said it.

“We’ll stay tonight and tomorrow night, but then we’re leaving.”

“Okay, Miles.”

Miles finally turned away from the mirror. Jeremy didn’t know what to do now, didn’t know what to say. He still didn’t really know how Miles felt about being back in the uniform, if he was feeling anything at all. Miles reached out and cupped his cheek, drawing Jeremy closer. Jeremy’s eyes fluttered closed when Miles kissed him. It was soft, and tender as though they had all the time in the world. Jeremy felt as though Miles would be content to do nothing but kiss him forever. When Miles pulled back, his eyes were no longer hard, his entire face was soft and open. It was all the thanks Jeremy was going to get, and more than he needed.

“I’m going to start a fire. Find the good stuff and come join me.”

It was both an invitation and an order. Jeremy nodded, reluctant to leave Miles, but he went anyway. He walked slowly down the hallway, feeling content. His plan had worked, or at least hadn’t backfired. They were still at least ten days outside Philadelphia and things could still go terribly wrong, but the closer they got to Philadelphia, the less worried about all the potentialities Jeremy was. He found a bottle of whiskey, purportedly from before the blackout, and took it back to the room. Miles was sitting on the rug in front of the fire wearing his old trousers and nothing else. The uniform was folded and sat waiting for him on the table, the boots directly below them. His sword was within arms reach, and suddenly Jeremy felt like begging Miles to let them stay, to somehow figure out how to stop time. This moment was what he’d been waiting for ever since Monroe had sent him away. Jeremy removed his jacket and toed off his boots before walking over to sit with Miles. Miles smiled and pulled Jeremy back against him, wrapping his arms around him. They stayed liked that for a while, quietly watching the flames dance in the fire.

“I know I’m not Bass, and he was always better at this than me, but he’s not here,” Miles began.

Jeremy couldn’t see Miles’ face, but if he had to guess, Miles sounded nervous, which was concerning because Miles was many things but nervous wasn’t one of them. Miles shifted and Jeremy was afraid Miles was going to get up and leave, but he didn’t. Instead, he pulled out a book, the worn copy of Walden he’d been carrying around with him.

“’At a certain season of our life we are accustomed to consider every spot as the possible sit of a house. I have thus surveyed the country on every side within a dozen miles of where I live. In imagination I have bought all the farms in succession, for all were to be bought, and I knew their price. I walked over each farmer's premises, tasted his wild apples, discoursed on husbandry with him, took his farm at his price, at any price, mortgaging it to him in my mind; even put a higher price on it -- took everything but a deed of it -- took his word for his deed, for I dearly love to talk -- cultivated it, and him too to some extent, I trust, and withdrew when I had enjoyed it long enough, leaving him to carry it on. This experience entitled me to be regarded as a sort of real-estate broker by my friends. Wherever I sat, there I might live, and the landscape radiated from me accordingly. What is a house but a sedes, a seat? -- better if a country seat.'"

Jeremy closed his eyes and let the words roll over him. It wasn't Monroe, but that didn't matter. It was Miles and the fact that Miles never did this made it all the more meaningful. And, the selection wasn't from the beginning of the book, either. It had been a choice. Miles was never one to express himself with words, he usually relied upon his actions. Words were Monroe's thing…his soft, gentle voice much better at conveying things. It was more pleasant to listen to Monroe read, but Miles' voice held an emotional quality to it that Jeremy loved. He doubted Miles would make a habit of reading, especially once they were back with Monroe. This was something just the two of them would share, and the thought made Jeremy smile.

"'When first I took up my abode in the woods, that is, began to spend my nights as well as days there, which, by accident, was on Independence Day, or the Fourth of July, 1845, my house was not finished for winter, but was merely a defence against the rain, without plastering or chimney, the walls being of rough, weather-stained boards, with wide chinks, which made it cool at night. The upright white hewn studs and freshly planed door and window casings gave it a clean and airy look, especially in the morning, when its timbers were saturated with dew, so that I fancied that by noon some sweet gum would exude from them. To my imagination it retained throughout the day more or less of this auroral character, reminding me of a certain house on a mountain which I had visited a year before. This was an airy and unplastered cabin, fit to entertain a travelling god, and where a goddess might trail her garments. The winds which passed over my dwelling were such as sweep over the ridges of mountains, bearing the broken strains, or celestial parts only, of terrestrial music. The morning wind forever blows, the poem of creation is uninterrupted; but few are the ears that hear it. Olympus is but the outside of the earth everywhere.'"

Jeremy must have fallen asleep listening to Miles read because when he woke up he was in bed, surrounded by Miles. He closed his eyes and snuggled back against Miles, content to sleep the day away, but knowing Miles would get them moving when it was time. It was like having the after-sex glow, and he knew he must look like an idiot, but he couldn’t help it. He'd shared something with Miles that he doubted even Monroe had, which normally wouldn’t be a big deal, but Jeremy was a realist when it came to his…relationship with Miles and Monroe. He knew that if it came down to it, they'd choose each other before they chose him, and he didn't fault either of them for it. It simply made him savor moments like this and pray it never came to a choice.

It seemed as though the uniform was doing the trick because when Jeremy woke up the second time, Miles was ordering some poor sergeant to bring him better coffee.

"Be nice to the poor kid, he's probably still terrified you're going to shoot him."

Miles glared at him. "Stay in bed. I've got a lead on the rebels. I'll meet you for lunch, you should check on the supplies, we're leaving in the morning."

Jeremy nodded. It felt weird to have Miles out on his own, but the militia had accepted it, and he was in uniform, so really there was nothing Jeremy could do other than pity the poor fool who questioned him too much. It was easy to go through the day, making sure the final preparations were made. A much smaller group would be moving on to Philly, closer to a dozen men total. Hopefully that meant they could move a bit quicker, but it also meant it was back to normal tents and bedrolls. Jeremy shrugged, it also meant they were almost home.

Lunch came and went with Miles, but Jeremy learned they had lead on the rebels who'd scattered after the attack. He didn't question it. Miles took it really seriously when he or Monroe got injured. Some of the lengths he'd gone to over the years were well beyond necessary, but he wouldn’t stop until he was satisfied. Dinner came and went in much the same manner and Jeremy made sure there was more of the nice whiskey Miles preferred for when he finally managed to pull himself away from his plots of revenge. Monroe used to try talking him out of it, back when raids were more frequent, before Monroe had an entire Republic defending him. It never worked, of course, but Jeremy figured it made Monroe feel better.

Something was wrong, Jeremy knew it the moment Miles walked into the room. It was in his posture, in the set of his shoulders, and you know, the scowl that seemed to be etched permanently on his face. Nothing major. Jeremy really didn't want to wager any guesses towards what had Miles so on edge, but whatever it was had been bad. There was a shadow in Miles' eyes that hadn't been there in the morning, liked he'd seen a ghost or worse. Jeremy waited for Miles to say something, waited for someone to come bursting into the room announcing the phantom had killed another man. Neither happened and Jeremy was almost relieved.

"Everything ready for tomorrow?"

Clearly they weren't going to talk about it. Jeremy rolled his eyes. Honestly. "Yeah, Miles. We're only taking a dozen men with us back to Philadelphia. The wagon and three horses."

Miles nodded. "Good."

He left. Miles just left. Not the building or anything, he just went into the adjoining room and closed the door. Jeremy was tempted to follow after him, to press for answers, but he didn't. Miles didn't want to talk and the bastard that he was, he wasn't going to be pressed into talking about it. He'd learned that the hard way. Miles had broken his nose and given him a rather impressive black eye the one, and only, time he'd ever pressed Miles for an answer when he wasn't willing to talk.

Jeremy didn't know what to do with himself for the rest of the night. He paced in front of the bed for a while and then tried reading through the reports Miles had been kind enough to leave on the table, but it didn't work. Nothing was able to distract him from knowing Miles was right next to him and not saying anything. Eventually, he just gave up and went to bed, rather resigned to a sleepless night. After counting sheep for what felt like an eternity, he heard the door open and eventually Miles crawled into the bed. He waited for Miles to hold him, but he never did. Miles didn't turn away, but he very carefully didn't touch him either. Jeremy wondered briefly if he'd done something, but quickly dismissed the thought because if he'd upset Miles, he'd still be alone in bed.

It wasn't any better in the morning. Miles only spoke when it was necessary and it was always a command. They packed and left Pittsburg just after sunrise. At least they moved faster as a smaller group because the journey didn't make Miles any more open. If anything, he drew further and further into himself. He wasn't angry, he wasn't really even yelling, except for when the corporal had set one of the tents on fire, but that was understandable. Jeremy was mostly just happy he hadn't slit the corporal's throat.

About five days into the trip, Miles finally held Jeremy at night. It caught Jeremy off guard and he jerked the first time. Miles had released him instantly and Jeremy had to put Miles' arm back around him. He found himself stroking the back of Miles' hand, offering the only sort of comfort he could, mostly because he didn't know what the fuck was wrong. He kept expecting Mils to snatch his hand back, he wasn’t the most receptive to comfort, from anyone. Even with Monroe, the most he ever really witnessed was a hand to the shoulder or a look.

After another five days, they crossed the Schuylkill River. It was a mere fifteen minutes to Independence Hall…to Monroe. Miles had been a bit better after that night, but not much. It was just enough to let Jeremy know that it wasn't him and that things might get better, but they'd probably get a hell of a lot worse first.

It was strange, being back home. Not that much had really changed. The Monroe Republic flag flew proudly from the main mast in front of Independence Hall. It had been built tall enough to see from the main bridge at what used to be the Vine Street Expressway. It was now Capital Bridge. Most of the men they'd come in with had scattered off to find their families so Jeremy and Miles rode their horses to Independence Hall on their own. They handed the horses off to stable hands near the green.

They walked silently through the front doors, the guards not immediately knowing how to react. Most snapped to attention, while other sort of blinked stupidly as Miles Monroe walked past them. Miles ignored them completely, his stride purposeful as he walked directly to Monroe's suite of rooms. Jeremy paused outside the main door, wanting to give Miles his space. He'd had Miles to himself for over a month.

"Get in here."

Or not. Miles wanted him in there, so Jeremy figured he might as well. He was a curious, perhaps more curious than everyone else. He wanted to know how it would play out between the two, but he was trying to be considerate. But, once he was in the room, it was like Miles forgot he was even there. Miles was walking around the room like a caged animal and it was the closest to nervous he'd ever seen the man.

"It seems the rumors were true," Monroe said from the doorway.

Jeremy watched Miles' head snap to Monroe. They looked at each other, and neither of them were blinking, or breathing if Jeremy had to guess.

"Disappointed?"

Not exactly the response Jeremy thought Miles would give, but these two had a way of keeping him off balance.

"Not exactly," Monroe answered as he moved further into the room. He walked over to the desk and poured three drinks.

Jeremy smiled briefly; some things never change. Monroe almost didn't look at him when he handed him a drink, it was like he was looking beyond him, or just slightly past his ear. But, he met Miles' gaze steadily as he passed a second drink to him.

"The last time I saw you, you tried to kill me," Monroe paused and took a long drink.

Jeremy knew his mouth was hanging open, but he was more shocked than he'd ever been, and after finding Miles with the rebels, he didn’t really think that would be possible. He almost couldn't process it…Miles trying to kill Monroe? It didn't make any sense, but Miles wasn't denying it.

"So tell me, Miles, are you here to kill me? Or should I just leave?"

"What?"

"This really isn't hard, Miles. And it's okay, I understand. After you left, I figured when you came back it would be to finish it and I decided I wouldn't stand in your way."

Jeremy looked between the two, oddly glad to see Miles looked as confused as he felt.

"Bass," Miles' voice wasn’t as strong as it should have been, "I left because I tried to kill you. I couldn't face you. Not after that. When you sent men after me, it was easier to run than to come back and face you. Face everything."

"Idiot, I sent the men to _find_ you. You didn't kill me, but you didn't stay…we never had a chance to fix it. Then I hear these stories about General Matheson and Captain Baker making their way towards Philly, routing rebels along the way," Monroe paused, eyes sad. "I've known this day was coming since I first realized you weren't going to come back to me. I'd pushed you away, and you left me alone with this empire to manage…I knew you'd be back for it one day."

"Find me? I put a gun to your head, Bass."

Monroe shook his head. Jeremy wasn't really following the conversation, because it didn't make any sense to him. It felt as though they were talking about two different things.

"Why did you try to kill him?" Jeremy hadn't meant to ask the question out loud, but he sort of figured someone needed to.

They both looked at him as if just realizing he was actually in the room.

Miles raked a hand through his hair. "It seemed like the only option at the time."

Jeremy really couldn't fathom a situation where the only option was to shoot your best friend, but it was hardly the only time he'd failed to understand these two. He also knew the real details of how Miles came to that decision were not up for discussion and he really didn't want another broken nose.

"I didn't care about that, Miles. I sent the men after you because I wanted you back. You didn't have to leave…and I realized I couldn't make you stay. I couldn’t understand why you'd need to come back with an army, why you couldn't just tell me what you wanted. It's not like I could say no, not to you…all of this was never mine, not really."

"I can't fix it, Bass. I don't know how, but I'm staying. I’m not going anywhere. I can't. Jeremy was right, you're my family."

Jeremy could imagine what Monroe was feeling, the desperate hope that warred with the overwhelming fear that it was all a lie, that he would take off again in the middle of the night. The desire to ignore reason and logic and throw himself head first into the deep end. Because it was Miles, and what other choice did either of them have when it came to him. Neither of them could ever leave Miles, never, but they both knew that Miles could, and would, leave them. No matter how much it broke all of them in the process.

"You're staying?" Monroe asked, afraid to believe it.

"Yeah."

Monroe nodded slowly, his eyes still so sad, as though he didn't believe it, which made sense, but Miles wouldn't lie, not now, not like this.

"Bass." Miles hand was out in invitation, his fingers almost touching Monroe's. When had they moved _that_ close together?

Their eyes locked and Jeremy felt the world shift under his feet. Then Monroe was in Miles' arms. It was almost painful to watch them kiss; the way Miles held Monroe's head as though he were made of glass and how Monroe clung to Miles as though he'd never see him again. It looked exactly how he'd felt when Miles had kissed him in the field, but it seemed so much more desperate, even from his voyeuristic vantage point. The words they wouldn’t say were there in their actions. Monroe begging Miles not to leave him and Miles swearing he wouldn't, not again. Jeremy smiled softly as he watched them lose themselves in each other. Every light in the world could have come back on, and he doubted either of them would notice. Quietly, Jeremy let himself out of the room. He could have stayed, but he’d had Miles to himself for a month…he could give Monroe one night.

He was able to sleep through the night, even without Miles in bed with him, knowing both his men were just down the hall. With a smile, he stretched before rolling out of bed, Monroe’s one night was over. Halfway down the hall, he nearly ran into Miles who had sleep tussled hair and a half asleep expression on his face, but his eyes brightened when the landed on Jeremy.

“I was just coming to find you.”

Jeremy smiled. “You found me.”

“Bass ordered breakfast in bed.”

Miles held his hand out to Jeremy, who took it and was pulled flush against Miles’ chest. Miles kissed him gently.

“Let’s go,” Miles whispered against his lips as he led Jeremy back to their room.

Monroe was curled up on the bed, still sound asleep and Jeremy rolled his eyes. Monroe had ordered breakfast…in his sleep. He shot an amused glance at Miles who shrugged, but there was a ghost of a smile on his lips. He might not say it, but it was there. Jeremy crawled into the bed and Monroe snuggled up next to him, eyes fluttering half open, lips curving into a welcoming smile.

“I’m sorry,” Monroe whispered, always the one better with words.

Jeremy smiled as Monroe leaned in and kissed him gently. It wasn’t like Miles’ kisses that were demanding and intense and shattering. It was tender and gentle and sweet. He felt Miles crawl into bed behind him. Felt a soft kiss pressed to the back of his neck. For the first time in years, he felt content, he felt as though the pieces of his life had finally been put back together. Jeremy didn't hold any illusions of an easy reunion and he figured things would get worse before they got better. After so many years apart, they had a lot to work through, trust to rebuild, but Jeremy knew the impossible part had already been taken care of. Miles was back, the rest would happen in time.  

**~FIN~**

**Author's Note:**

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> 
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